


Choices

by NotoriousHistoryNerd



Category: Timeless (TV 2016)
Genre: Al Capone - Freeform, All of the Feelings, All of the angst and pining, All the crime, Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, Angst, Canon-Typical Violence, Charles Lindbergh, Chicago, Danger, Eliot Ness - Freeform, Feelings, Flynn is so extra, Gen, Home Invasion, Human Disaster Garcia Flynn, Kidnapping, Lucy really needs to learn self defense, Minor Rufus Carlin/Jiya, Mutual Pining, No garcy, Rittenhouse, Rittenhouse (Timeless), So much angst, There will be Riya, This is a Lyatt Fic just to be clear, Timeless Season 1, We love two time travelers who can't express themselves, Wyatt is gonna go crazy, Wyatt needs to confess his feelings, lyatt, mobster, wucy
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-08-16
Updated: 2019-01-24
Packaged: 2019-06-28 10:49:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 7
Words: 33,468
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15705729
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/NotoriousHistoryNerd/pseuds/NotoriousHistoryNerd
Summary: Set after Season 1 Episode 14, Canon Divergence. What if Flynn had paid Lucy a visit after their mission to Paris in 1927?





	1. The Uninvited Guest

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I don't own Timeless or its characters.
> 
> Not sure how many parts this story is going to have. We will see where this goes. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯

It had been one hell of a day. From confronting her father and his unsettling ideas about her legacy, to saving Charles Lindbergh from Flynn's merciless rampage. It was all just a bit much, not to mention the fact that the after effects of time travel were about ten times as exhausting as your average jet lag. Lucy had nearly collapsed the moment she'd walked through her front door, and would have gladly done so if it hadn't been for a nagging feeling in the pit of her stomach.

The moment she had been released from the interminable mission debrief with the ominous agent Neville she had gone straight for the computers. She was desperate to know if her words had really managed to set Lindbergh on a different path in life. If she had been able to change his future for the better

Only to find out that absolutely _nothing_ had changed.

Lucy was horrified as she read that he had only re-emerged from hiding, or rather 'been rescued' two weeks after he went missing in Paris, and still went on to take credit for the first trans-Atlantic flight. Still went on to become an anti-semitic asshole and Adolf Hitler's golden boy. Still did every terrible thing she knew Rittenhouse had forced upon him.

And suddenly she felt so helpless and afraid, because if he couldn't escape Rittenhouse, then how would she be able to?

 _"Rittenhouse isn't a choice, it's blood."_ Her father's words echoed in her mind.

It terrified her to know that she was wrong about Lindbergh, because it was as if her history books were mocking her. Like her own fate was being spelled out for her as she listlessly poured over page after page, looking for evidence that she had made some scrap of a difference in his choices.

As soon as she got home she'd unshelved almost every book about Lindbergh that she could find in her little home library, sprawling them across her disorganized coffee table while the hours passed her by, only to be met with the same information she'd already known.

More unsettling was the idea that Flynn had been right about him. Not everyone was willing to give up their legacy.

After reading tirelessly and grappling with her own inner thoughts for the better part of three hours she'd passed out on the couch, utterly exhausted by the events of the day.

Little did she know that it wasn't over just yet.

The sound of someone knocking incessantly on her front door roused her from her restless dreams. She suppressed a small moan as she righted herself, her sore back muscles protesting at the effort as she swung her legs to the side and pressed her bare feet to the cold wood floor.

She briefly glanced at the clock hanging above the mantle before gathering her bearings and heading for the door, swiping her signature floral robe off the couch and throwing it over her shoulders hastily.

 _Who needs to see me at 11:46 pm?_ She wondered groggily, not quite registering the possible dangers of the situation as she was still not entirely awake. She almost wondered if it was Wyatt, unpleasantly reminded of the last time he had stopped by for a midnight chat.

"I'm stealing the lifeboat to get Jessica back, tonight." He had said, his face contorting in both pain and anticipation as he effectively put an end to whatever romantic tension had been unconsciously brewing between them. But she had supported him without hesitation. What else was she supposed to have done? Although Jessica's tragic fate had remained the same, Lucy couldn't shake the feeling that she would always come second to her ghost, a lingering memory whose grip held Wyatt more like the strangling circle of a noose than the gentle reassurance of a wedding band.

Tearing her thoughts away from that night as she wrapped her fingers around the handle, she braced herself for the cold night air.

"Can I help you?" She began as she swung the door open, only to feel all of the air drain from her lungs as she looked up into the familiar green eyes of a one Garcia Flynn.

"Don't you look cozy?" He observed, taking in her tousled dark brown waves and the soft texture of her pale blue sweater, her trusted golden locket hanging low against her chest. It was almost jarring for him to see her this way, knowing that even without all of the historical pomp and finery, she still managed to look just as stunning.

He, on the other hand, looked more or less the same. With a tight beige turtle neck and a black leather jacket hugging his frame as he stared at her with that familiar self-satisfied grin spread across his face, relishing in her loss for words.

It took her all of ten seconds to come to her senses as she moved to slam the door shut in his face, but he was too quick for her, jamming his foot in the door frame before she could close it properly.

"There's no need to be rude." He drawled in his deep, accented English. "I just want to talk."

 _Yeah right_ , she thought disbelievingly. Lucy was struggling to control her breathing and it took all of her resolve to control the tremor in her voice as she spoke. "My mother will be home any moment you know. She's on her way back from a meeting at the university as we speak."

"No, she's not." Flynn replied simply. "I know your mother's away at a conference in Maine this weekend. You're a lot of things Lucy, but a good liar isn't one of them."

She gritted her teeth at how easily he could see through her. Before she could stop him Flynn pressed his palm flat against the door, pushing it open again with minimal effort despite her attempt to push back. He was stronger than her, and there was no denying that he could overpower her at any moment. A cold, uncontrollable sense of fear began to overwhelm her as she shivered, squeezing her locket for a shred of comfort.

 _"Fear isn't real."_ Harry Houdini had told her, but in this moment she couldn't seem to remember his advice.

Giving up her struggle with the door she defensively crossed her arms as his eyes continued to drill holes through her own, whether with anger for letting Lindbergh go or some other emotion, she couldn't tell. But eventually his gaze softened, if only a fraction.

"Like I said, I just want to talk." He repeated. It seemed he was in earnest, but she eyed him skeptically.

"Yeah, well a phone call works just as well." She huffed.

He casually leaned his shoulder against the door frame. "I prefer to have my conversations face to face".

"Yes, always cornering me in front of flaming shipwrecks and in the middle of 19th century train stations. How could I forget?" She said dryly. She hoped her sarcasm was an adequate mask for her anxiety, but she couldn't seem to stop her hands from shaking.

He chuckled softly. "No Kate Drummond or Robert Lincoln around now. Just you and me." She couldn't decide whether that sounded like a reassurance or a threat.

"Well we aren't exactly on the friendliest of terms. I don't recall inviting a wanted terrorist over for dinner." She remarked, frowning.

He nearly flinched at the term terrorist, knowing that's how she thought of him.

"There's a first time for everything." He offered a wry smile. It was odd to her how they had almost slipped into a sort of banter, and it struck her how she now felt a simultaneous sense of calm and apprehension in his presence. She already knew that there were parts of him she had seen that no one else was privy to. The broken, even compassionate parts that were for her eyes alone. What she couldn't understand was why. Why he was able to drop his mask, why he exercised any shred of restraint only when it came to her. He had made it clear that he would never hurt her, or at least, not severely. She shuddered at the memory of his hands wrapping around her throat as the sound of a fateful gunshot rang harshly in her ears. The night of Lincoln's assassination was still very much fresh in her memory, along with the look of murderous determination that had clouded Flynn's eyes as he pulled the trigger. And yet, his eyes now looked decidedly calmer. They were still mysterious and fierce as ever, but possessed a more casual lingering expression that Lucy couldn't quite decipher.

However, the dangerous glint that constantly punctuated his piercing green gaze never faltered as he stared at her. Stared _through_ her. As if he knew every thought that crossed her mind before it even sparked in her brain. Every feeling betrayed by the emotions that unconsciously colored her face. He could read her effortlessly, as if he knew things about her that even she didn't know. And that filled her with a terror she couldn't even begin to describe.

The silence hung between them and Flynn watched her with an air of amusement. He could practically see the wheels turning in her head as she weighed her options and desperately tried to pull herself together. There was definitely a line being crossed here. It was one thing to confront each other under the cloak of the past, racing through every century and decade as they chased each other in circles. But coming to her house? It was such an overwhelming violation that made Lucy think she might never feel safe again. Before, she could at least pretend that once she climbed out of the lifeboat and left Mason Industries, she was returning to a 'normal' life. Albeit, a life that didn't include Amy and had her engaged to some surgeon she didn't know, but it was still fairly ordinary compared to her time travelling day job. And yet even her own home no longer seemed like a safe space, upon being invaded by Garcia Flynn and that knowing grin that twitched at his lips. It only made her want to smack that smug expression off his face even more.

Her eyes slid from his face to the hand gun conspicuously holstered at his hip. She knew it was there for dramatics more than anything else, but the implication was clear. The power dynamics had been established, and while he may not kill her, there was no telling how far he would go to get whatever it was he wanted.

Lucy sighed, exasperated. "I don't really have much of a choice, do I?"

"No." Flynn smirked as he slid past her into the foyer like he owned the place. She tensed as he sauntered toward the kitchen, her hand still gripping the door handle as she peered out into the night. She could make a run for it, she thought, maybe get as far as a neighbor's house and call for help, or sprint for the main road and hail down a car. But as always, Flynn was one step ahead of her.

"I wouldn't if I were you." He called out from behind her. "I've got Karl parked out front keeping watch. You won't make it very far."

She pursed her lips in frustration before reluctantly closing the door and turning to face Flynn. The finality of the door clicking shut settled over her as she once again realized that she was essentially trapped in her own home, alone with Flynn, and without any way to defend herself. Pulling her robe more tightly around her body, Lucy hesitantly made her way towards the kitchen. She turned the corner of the hall only to find him resting comfortably on one of the bar stools, his back against the counter of the island as he eyed her expectantly. He had just reached across the counter top and picked up her cell phone, swiftly tucking it into his coat pocket and patting it reassuringly.

"I'll just hold onto this while we talk." He winked at her. She gulped, well that did nothing to ease her nerves. She really was on her own now. And seeing Flynn waltz around her home so nonchalantly made her more than a little uncomfortable, the sense of invasion as present as ever. She straightened her back and tried to adopt a confident posture as she took a cautious step towards Flynn.

"Nice place." He said, glancing around the room. "Your mother has good taste."

"What do you want from me, Flynn?" She asked irritably, eager to skip any more attempts at small talk. She stood her ground as he rose from his stool and stalked toward the living room, inspecting the coffee table strewn with books.

"Bit of late night reading, professor?" He asked playfully, dodging her questioning glare as he flipped through the pages of one of the larger volumes and collapsed onto the couch. The spine of the book read, _The Life and Legacy of Charles Lindbergh_.

"Don't answer a question with a question." She retorted. "Why are you here?"

He gave her a long look. "Same reason you've been up reading the same books over and over for the past three hours."

"How did you-" She sputtered, not even wanting to know if he'd been watching her all night. He continued to look at her, arching one eyebrow as he waited for her to continue.

"I...I wanted to know what happened to Lindbergh." She admitted quietly, averting her eyes from Flynn's burning gaze.

"You mean you wanted to know if you were able to convince him to leave Rittenhouse." He corrected, never missing a beat.

"Yes." She whispered, almost too soft to hear.

"And were you surprised by what you found?"

"Did you just come here to rub it in my face? To hear me say that I misjudged him?" She snapped, turning away from him.

His lips quirked up at that. "Maybe." He replied. "It's not every day that you hear Lucy Preston admit she was wrong."

She did her best to ignore him. "I just thought he would make a different choice."

But Flynn knew Lucy was talking more about her own choices than anyone else's.

"Not everybody possesses your inherent goodness, Lucy. They won't make the same sacrifices that you will." He said carefully. She finally turned back toward him, her brown eyes widening in surprise.

"Was that...a compliment?" She gaped at him.

He shrugged. "Yes and no."

Lucy tilted her head, utterly confused. At first sight of him she had been sent into a panic, ready to make a run for it at the first opportunity. And while she was still deeply unsettled and aware of the danger he represented, she now found herself more curious than anything else.

"Lucy, I'm going to be blunt." He began.

"Oh, as if you're usually so delicate with words." She muttered, but he continued as if she hadn't spoken.

"You are without a doubt the kindest, most compassionate person I've ever met. Your instinct to always see the best in others even in the face of so much corruption is...admirable to say the least. You aren't at all how I expected you to be." He said, unable to find the right words to convey just how much she conversely inspired and infuriated him. Her jaw nearly dropped to the floor.

"However, your big heart has a tendency to get in my way. It makes you unwilling to see the truth about people, about Rittenhouse. And more importantly, the truth that not everyone is worthy of your kindness, your mercy."

She stared at him, speechless, taken aback by the total honesty characterizing his gentle tone. She was dimly aware of how close she was now standing to him, her fingers gripping the back of the sofa across from where he was sitting. Surprisingly, she didn't shy away from his gaze, but moved around the sofa to seat herself across from him.

"I suppose you prefer to handle things your way? Busting down doors with guns blazing, taking out Rittenhouse piece by piece. Person by person, without any care for who gets caught in the crossfire?" She asked quietly. With every word out of her mouth she could see the slow rage simmering beneath his skin as his fingers flexed at his sides.

"You don't think I care?" He said fiercely, the faces of every innocent person he'd ever killed flashing in his mind's eye.

Lucy was silent.

"You really do think I'm a monster, don't you?"

She eyed him warily. "I honestly don't know what to think of you."

He perked up at that, spurred on by the fact that she didn't immediately brand him like the beast he had become, a shadow of his former self. Her unwavering sense of honesty never failed to impress him.

Her eyes never left his as she cautiously reached forward and brought her tea mug to her lips, needing the warmth of the liquid to diffuse the cold sense of dread spreading through her chest.

"You do know." He said suddenly.

"What?" She frowned.

"You do know what you think of me." He repeated softly, folding his hands and leaning back as he braced himself for her judgement. But somehow, she always managed to surprise him.

"I think you're a broken person." She began, careful to watch his reaction, but he had dawned his unreadable mask. "I think losing your family has pushed you to do things, unspeakable things, that despite your best efforts have changed you in ways you can't explain, can't undo."

When he offered no reply, she pressed on.

"I think you're a warrior with the weight of the world on your shoulders, trying to wipe out Rittenhouse all by yourself so nobody gets hurt like you did, gets destroyed like you did. And that as the battle drags on you've become numb to the death that you bring with you, the causalities that become collateral damage. Unable to decipher between guilty and innocent, or unable to care anymore as you decide who lives and who dies. Unable to care about anything except the thought of seeing _them_ again."

Lorena and Iris' beautiful, innocent faces flashed before his eyes. It had been so long since he had seen their radiant smiles, heard their voices. Did he even deserve to anymore?

"But at the end of everything, I think you're someone who has hope, and I can't fault you for that."

His eyes flicked up to hers in momentary shock, lips slightly parting as he inhaled deeply, suddenly able to breathe easier knowing what Lucy Preston thought of him. That after all he had one, the best word she could use to describe him was _hopeful_.

She was too good for any of them. And he hated himself for what he was about to do.

"Maybe that's why I need you." He said.

Lucy's fingers tightened around her cup, suddenly all too aware that she was having a tender heart to heart with the same man who had tried to kill her team on multiple occasions. Had, no matter how remorseful, murdered so many innocent people. And, not to mention, had kidnapped her not two months earlier.

"What do you mean?" Lucy asked tightly. She stood and slowly made her way toward the dining table, wanting to put some distance between them.

"Maybe I'm in need of my own historian." He answered, coming out more like a question than a statement. Was he...was he asking for her help? She wondered.

"You seem to get by just fine on your own." She said nervously. "Besides, I'm not the only historian in the Bay Area, Flynn."

A frown tugged at his lips as he noticed how unsettled she was by his words. She knew why he was here. She was smart. Hell, she was brilliant. He should have known it wouldn't have taken too long for her to put two and two together.

"You're not just a historian anymore, Lucy." He said, his voice vibrating with conviction. "You're a time-traveller. Some crotchety, 65-year-old grandpa of a history professor doesn't know how to react in the heat of the moment, who to look for, where to go. They don't know every era like the back of their hand, like their life or the fate of the world depends on it. Not like you do."

He stood, careful to keep his movements slow and deliberate. He didn't want to frighten her into running away from him. She needed to hear this.

"I can't deny that you always seem to have an ace up your sleeve, even with the journal working as my guide. There's always someone I hadn't thought of, a shortcut I hadn't anticipated. Always something that pops into that head of yours, and before I know it you're scurrying off to the lifeboat having outsmarted me again. You're just too good at what you do Lucy. I can't have you working for the other side anymore. I need you."

There, he'd said it. All out in the open now. She looked just as horrified as he'd expected, a part of her relieved that he wasn't going to kill her and another part overcome with fear at what working for his side would entail. And more importantly, why he was here, telling her this now.

She shook her head, panicked, backing away even further. Her feet shuffled unsteadily beneath her as she accidentally bumped into the edge of the dining room table, plates and silverware clattering like the violent pounding of her heart. She could almost feel the phantom press of Flynn's fingers tightening around her wrist from their mission to 1780 that had gone so terribly wrong, only to end with Flynn dragging her off to the mothership and abducting her from the team.

And all she could think in this moment was, _No, not again_.

"Flynn, please, I-" She trembled, unsure of how to convince him not to force this upon her. "I want to help you, I do. I want to take down Rittenhouse just as much as you but there has to be another way. I can't do what you do. I can't just sit by and watch people die at your hands. That's not who I am."

"I know." He sighed sadly, taking another step toward her. Before all this he wouldn't of thought this was who he was either. "But that's just it. There is no other way."

"You don't know that." She argued. "Like you said, I know history like the back of my hand. If you just give me some time I could-could come up with something."

She was desperate at this point, grasping at straws. Anything to make him see reason.

"That's not even the real reason I need you." He murmured, more to himself than to Lucy. But she had heard him.

"What?" Lucy asked timidly. She was vaguely aware of the mug she still grasped in her shaking fingers. Her brain was screaming at her to run, but her mind was somewhat hazy. Her legs felt heavy, wobbling underneath her as she attempted to support her own weight. She chalked it up to her anxiety, seeing as the situation could become volatile at any moment. But on top of that, something in Flynn's unnervingly gentle voice held her rooted to the spot.

"I need you to keep me human, Lucy." He admitted heavily. "You're the best of us, and maybe if we work together I can show you the truth, and you can show me how to be myself again."

Her stomach churned at his desperate, almost pleading tone. She knew he wasn't lying, that Rittenhouse was most definitely not any 'paranoid delusion' as she had previously called it. But how could she possibly join forces with this man who was utterly out of control, without boundaries or restraint or consideration for the ramifications of all he had done. She wasn't sure she alone would be able to reign all of that in, or if he would even let her.

"But I don't trust you." She protested.

"Well, you must learn to eventually if you were willing to give me this." He said matter-of-factly, pulling out the infamous leather-bound journal with her stamped initials staring back at her.

"I still don't entirely believe that I wrote that." She grumbled, eyes darting left and right as she contemplated the fastest way to escape. She wasn't safe, she needed to get out of here. Maybe if she could just keep him talking, keep him distracted just a bit longer.

"Believe what you like, it doesn't change the truth. We're meant to be a team Lucy, it's the only way this will end." He said firmly.

"I can't just leave Wyatt and Rufus." She glared at him, hoping it would keep him from coming any closer.

"You can, and you will." He said, and with that he finally moved to close the distance between them.

On instinct Lucy prepared herself to run. She had decided the backdoor was her best bet, and moved to make her way towards it, but something wasn't right. Her body wasn't responding the way she needed it to. In her dizziness she reached a hand out to grip the back of one of the chairs, barely able to stand up straight as her vision blurred and the world around her spun violently. As her faculties continued to weaken she distantly felt her tea mug slip through her trembling fingers, falling to the floor with a crash that sounded dull to her ears, almost as if it were underwater. Realizing she wasn't going to get very far, she turned to look over her shoulder while struggling to keep her balance. She hadn't even made it half way to the back door, and Flynn was watching her with an almost pitiful expression on his face.

"What did you do to me?" She asked hoarsely, trying to shout but barely managing a strangled whisper.

"Your friend Mr. Houdini isn't the only one who's capable of sleight of hand." He replied, somehow managing to look both smug and slightly sympathetic at the same time as his eyes flicked to the broken ceramic mug and the liquid spilling across the floor.

 _He actually drugged me, how could I have been so stupid?_ She thought bitterly. He was entirely too close. There was no way she was getting out of this.

"Please, please don't do this-" She cried weakly as her legs gave out from under her and she collapsed to the floor, landing on her side as darkness began to bleed in at the edges of her vision. She couldn't fight much longer as her eye lids began to flutter, her world quickly disappearing in a foggy haze.

Her words echoed strangely in his ears, casting him back to a night not much unlike this one, when she had thrown herself in front of the barrel of his gun to save John Rittenhouse, and unknowingly saved Flynn's own humanity.

"Shh, Lucy, it's all right I'm not going to hurt you." He said softly, slipping one arm around her back and the other beneath her knees as he swung her up into his arms. She was feather light, as if she almost weighed nothing at all. But even as she was slipping into unconsciousness her body still flinched away from his touch.

"Please, Flynn." Lucy murmured blearily as her head came to rest against his chest, her mumbled protests dissipating as she finally drifted into darkness, the sound of his name dying on her lips.

An empty silence hung in the air as Flynn gazed upon her unconscious form in his grasp, her breathing evening out into the deep breaths of a drugged sleep.

"I'm sorry." He whispered in her ear. "I didn't have a choice."

But even if she couldn't hear him or offer a coherent reply, her powerful voice still sounded in his mind.

_We all have choices. We can decide to be something different._

He sighed, making his way towards the door, Lucy's head lolling against his shoulder.

_She will help me end this, whether she wants to or not._


	2. The Promise of Possibilities

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyatt comes to terms with his feelings for Lucy, but as usual he has terrible timing. Meanwhile, Lucy finds herself at the center of Flynn's plan to take down Rittenhouse once and for all, with no chance of escape in sight...

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Finally! I know it took my SO long to get this chapter up. To be honest I've kind of neglected this story a little in favor of writing for my other one, but writing this chapter reminded me why I like this idea so much, so you'll definitely be getting more chapters soon. This is a Lyatt story, just to be clear, although I do take the time to flesh out the complicated relationship between Lucy and Flynn despite not making it romantic. If you’re clamoring for a Garcy story feel free to go read my other fic “Knowing Yourself". 
> 
> My plan for this fic is to do a split between Wyatt and Lucy's point of view from every chapter here on out. I want them to be more or less even, despite the fact that the Lucy portion of this chapter is waaaay longer than the Wyatt snippet, but to be fair your girl was just kidnapped so she has a lot more going on. Anyway, hope you enjoy and would love to hear some feedback. :)

_Wyatt_

Somehow, breaking out of a black site had been surprisingly easier than he had expected. After shorting out the power it was just a matter of fighting his way to the door, and then running like hell. 

He'd never pegged Agent Christopher much one for breaking the rules, always rigid in her determination to get the job done. But perhaps her loyalties were no longer simply characterized by her ties to the government, especially if the NSA had been infiltrated by Rittenhouse. No, it was clear her true allegiance was with the team, with the only people she could trust in a world where it suddenly seemed like anyone could be the enemy. After all, she was the driving force that held the team together, and the look in her eyes when she'd left that paperclip sitting on the table had been unmistakable. 

 _I trust you_ , had been the words left unsaid in her expression as she willed him to pull himself together and  _fight back._ To get off his ass and do something. It had been the jumpstart he needed, although hearing that Lucy and Rufus might be in danger from Rittenhouse was easily incentive enough.

However, even with the considerable amount of adrenaline pumping through his veins as he punched his way to freedom, Wyatt couldn't deny the overwhelming feeling of weariness and sheer pain that threatened to overwhelm him. It was taking every ounce of effort he had to compartmentalize his feelings just long enough until he found somewhere safe enough to completely unravel from the events of the past two days. It still hadn't quite hit him, everything that had happened. 

Coming back to the present and hearing Lucy's voice confirming his worst fears had been nothing short of devastating. 

It was like losing Jess all over again, his grief suddenly as fresh and raw as it had been the same night he'd gotten that call from the sheriff, telling him that his wife's body had been found in the bushes on the side of the road, right where he'd left her. 

No matter what he did, whether it be sending Back to the Future telegrams or even interfering in an ill-advised one-night stand fated to produce a serial killer, none of it mattered. 

 _What would Jessica think of you?_  He thought bitterly to himself as the face of the young bartender flashed in his mind. His stomach did an involuntary flip at the fact that he had, essentially, murdered an innocent person, however by accident. He hadn't meant for it to happen, but he should have known that the risks of someone getting hurt on his little joyride would be too high to ignore.

With a pang of shame, Wyatt realized he was essentially no better than Flynn, the calculated maniac hell bent on bringing his own wife and child back to life, only to fail time and time again, and take multiple innocent lives in the process. Who were either of them to decide which lives were worth more than others, to play God and take people off the face of the Earth in order to bring back someone who was already dead? And had it really been worth it? Going to all that trouble, only to come back to the same reality anyway. The one where, as he'd said in the Alamo, everyone he cared about was gone. 

For some cruel, inexplicable reason, it seemed like the universe was determined to keep him from ever being happy again. As if letting him save the one person he loved most in the world was just too much to ask, a dream that could never be allowed to be fully realized. Even more ironic then to have him be one of the few people in the world that knew time travel was real, as fate teasingly dangled the possibility of a second chance before his eyes in the form of a literal time machine, only to snatch away that hope as quickly as it had come. 

It seemed he was destined to fail the ones he loved, or at least that's how it felt. 

It was with these thoughts in mind that he sat on the edge of the bed in a shabby motel room he'd broken into, head in his hands, absorbed in thoughts he couldn't get away from no matter how hard he tried. The faces of everyone he cared about were rotating in a relentless loop behind his eyelids, the faces of the people he'd let down the most. 

And yet, as Lucy and Rufus appeared in his mind's eye, he realized with a jolt that they could be in danger right now, and he wouldn't even know it. 

Not everyone he cared about was gone. He couldn't say that was true anymore. 

Even though they weren't really there, Wyatt could still hear the bubbling of Lucy's laughter as she listened to Rufus declare his undying love for Chocodiles, or the confident ebb of her voice as she thoroughly briefed them on whatever historical debacle they'd gotten themselves mixed up in. He could see Rufus' shy smiles as Wyatt half-heartedly teased him over his poorly disguised crush on Jiya, could hear the pilot’s voice dripping with sarcasm as he prepared the lifeboat for another jump and the many near-death experiences that would come along with it. 

As surely as if they were standing before him, Wyatt could catalogue everything he cherished about his two partners in a list that had no end. Despite not being a very 'touchy-feely' sort of guy, even he couldn't deny the overwhelming sense of love he felt for the two people he trusted most in the world. And suddenly it was all very clear to him. He knew what he had to do. 

Without warning, self-loathing was transformed into steely determination, almost as if a new sense of purpose was permeating his being. He had to get back to them. 

He might have failed them, might have abandoned them, but it wasn’t too late to make things right. He saw now that while he might not have a second chance with Jessica, he did have a second chance with the team. He would never be able to go back and change what happened to her; it was clear that his past could not be undone. So, it was time to focus on the present, on the people who depended on him most.

 _The present isn’t perfect but it’s ours._ The conviction of Lucy’s voice echoed reassuringly in his mind, urging him to pick up the pieces.

Rufus and Lucy needed him  _now_ , and he intrinsically knew that he was the only one who could protect them. _This_ , this was his second chance. 

A chance to make things right.

 _And maybe._ A small voice in his head said.  _A chance to explore something new with a certain historian._

Wyatt had to fight the urge to snuff that thought out as quickly as it materialized in his brain. It made him feel wrong, guilty even, as if admitting his growing feelings for Lucy only days after essentially losing his wife all over again made him the shallowest person in the world. As if it was an affront to Jessica's memory, evidence that he was unaffected by her loss and able to move on at the drop of a hat. And that was the farthest thing from the truth.

Yet, he was moving on, he realized with a start, as some tension deep inside him finally started to peacefully unravel. Although failing to bring Jessica back had hurt like a merciless kick to the gut, it had also brought him an odd, unexpected sense of closure. He had done everything one could do. He'd searched for her killer for years, had gone back in a damn time machine to prevent the monster from ever even being born. He had tried, to the last shred of any possibility, he had tried. Tried and failed. 

Jessica would always hold a place in his heart, without question. She had helped make him into the man he was, had been his entire world up until the day she died. There was no forgetting someone like that. But he didn't want to forget her. He just thought that maybe, after subjecting himself to loneliness for so long, maybe he deserved to be with someone who made him whole again. To be happy. 

Maybe Jessica would want him to move on. 

He wasn't looking to jump into anything at that very moment, not wanting to rush into a full-fledged relationship just yet. He could acknowledge he might not be quite ready. But maybe just the possibility of not tamping down the feeling of longing whenever Lucy Preston waltzed or stumbled into the room. Not mentally scolding himself every time he watched her when he thought she wasn't looking, when he traced the lines of her lips with his eyes and wondered if they were as soft as they looked. 

If he could just open himself up to her and be receptive. Could show that he was open to whatever this budding chemistry between them was, and tell her that wherever it was going, he'd be happy to sit back and enjoy the ride. 

It was suddenly very important to him that she knew how he felt, remembering how well, or rather, badly, their last conversation had gone. Watching her cry at the foot of the staircase as she whispered a tearful goodbye had twisted Wyatt's heart in more ways than one. He had known that coming to her house and telling her what he was about to do was something that couldn't be taken back. He had basically told her that as long as he got Jessica back, he didn't care if he got kicked off the team, didn’t care about the missions or what happened to her and Rufus. Shame enveloped him in its stifling grip as he remembered her wishing him good luck, knowing that he might be coming back to an entirely different reality, one where they may have never met. Suddenly he was overcome by the urge to kick himself, because the idea that he nearly sacrificed knowing Lucy and being on the team entirely made his stomach flip with momentary panic. He couldn’t lose them too.

The thought of never having met Lucy Preston made his heart ache, as he clung to the idea of whatever possibilities existed between them, even if they hadn’t been fully realized.  Although, she might not even feel the same way about him, he considered, especially not after choosing his wife over his loyalty to the team. 

He'd left them. He'd left  _her,_ and he was abruptly overwhelmed by the need to apologize. To assure Lucy that he wasn't going anywhere ever again, no matter what. 

With these promises on the tip of his tongue, Wyatt descended the stairs into the musty, underground storage facility that Agent Christopher had instructed him to rendezvous at the next morning. She had sounded relieved, but not in the least surprised when he'd called her from a payphone shortly after his escape. He was glad Denise trusted him enough to bring him back into the loop, to help bring down Rittenhouse for good. 

The basement was dimly lit, but it didn't take him long to spot Agent Christopher and Rufus speaking in hushed tones beside a stack of wooden crates. The conversation stopped abruptly as they heard footsteps approach from around the corner, but as soon as Wyatt came into view they both visibly exhaled.

"Boy, am I glad to see you." Rufus said sincerely, clapping Wyatt on the back. 

"I knew you'd make it out of there." Agent Christopher added, giving Wyatt a small smile as she briefly let herself relax. 

He was glad to see them safe, his burdens suddenly feeling lighter in the company of friends.

It was nice not having to be alone anymore. 

Yet the one person he wanted to see most was nowhere to be found, and he felt a sense of dread creeping in. 

"Where's Lucy?"

* * *

_Lucy_

Oddly enough, the first thing Lucy felt when she awoke wasn’t anything in the realm of fear, anxiety, or panic. No, Lucy Preston was _annoyed._

Of course, there was the initial shock of waking up in a place she didn’t recognize, but that was quickly overshadowed by a sense of pure and utter frustration as she recalled the events of the previous night.

 _I need you_ , he had said. The total earnestness of the confession still puzzled her, especially considering that he had decided that the best way to impart his sincerity was by slipping a rufie into her tea when she wasn’t looking. Not exactly the best first impression in whatever partnership he was trying to foster, she thought grudgingly.

Her head was still pounding from the after effects of the drug as she slowly sat up and tried to gage where Flynn had taken her. It didn’t look anything like his last hide out, the empty church where he’d held her before their disastrous mission to the Chicago World’s Fair. She shuddered at the memory of her encounter with H. H. Holmes, and the subsequent brush with death that she’d only narrowly escaped. She’d been lucky, what with the heroic and timely arrival of Wyatt and Rufus to rescue her, but she often wondered when her luck would run out. Or, considering where she was, if it already had.

Judging by the stacks of marked wooden creates, shipment ledgers, and assorted metal car parts littering the room, it seemed that the place was some sort of abandoned manufacturing facility, as she’d been unceremoniously dumped into what looked like a storage closet turned makeshift bedroom. To her dismay, she found that there were no windows in her prison and had to fight both her claustrophobia and her disappointment that there was no way to escape. It looked like she wouldn’t be going anywhere anytime soon unless it was in the mothership with Flynn, and she was already exhausted just thinking about wherever or whenever he might drag her off to. The thought of enduring another time-travelling ordeal almost made her want to drift back to sleep as she laid her head back down on the pillow she’d been using. She was resting on a small cot tucked into the back corner of the room with a thin blanket draped over her and was somewhat pleasantly surprised by the gesture. At least Flynn had the decency not to leave her prey to the cold.

However, it was with a start that she realized she wasn’t in just any old bedroom. It was Flynn’s. She was sure of it. His personal effects had been left strewn about the place, but she wasn’t surprised to find there was very little he actually owned, as his present lifestyle didn’t leave much room for the care of material possessions. The first give away was the clothes she found tucked away at the foot of the bed. There were heaps of them, all carefully folded and arranged inside an open footlocker that was probably older than she was. She could see suits from every decade and century, with touches of his signature burgundy color accenting each cravat and tie. She supposed he kept the clothes out of practicality, hoping to reuse them if they ever went back to a similar time period. Something about the thought made Lucy unbearably tired. She dreaded thinking about how long this game of cat and mouse would go on, as clearly Flynn was prepared to keep on time-travelling interminably. She’d be lying if she said she didn’t cherish the thrill of crossing paths with a number of her historical heroes, but she could do without the near-death experiences and pressure of saving the word on a daily basis. Needless to say, she would praise the day that she never had to clamber inside the lifeboat again with all its nausea inducing side effects. But she knew she wouldn’t be abandoning time travel anytime soon, not if Flynn had anything to say about it. 

Other than the clothes there wasn’t much to look at, just some crumpled up notes, assorted files, shell casings (but no guns), and a pile of books all resting on a desk opposite to the cot. Giving the books a precursory glance, she realized they were all history texts, and was briefly startled to see one of her own works staring back at her. It was one of her debut research projects as an assistant professor at Stanford titled _Lincoln’s Last Hours._ How ironic and unsettling it was, she thought, that he would take the time to read a book about the man he shot himself, and a book she wrote nonetheless. The rest of the books, all of different historical periods, she understood to be for tactical advantage in the field. But this one, it just seemed odd. Did it mean he felt guilty, remorseful? Was it just a contrived morbid curiosity, as he read about the mysterious unknown assassin, which was in reality himself? Or maybe he bought it before their mission to 1865. She may never know, but it still troubled her to think about, bringing on a renewed sense of anxiety at the thought of her intelligent, calculating, though at times maniacal and murderous adversary. She felt she would never definitively understand him, his true nature always something of an unfathomable mystery. 

Yet, out of everyone, it was her who knew him best. Who got to peer behind the curtain and gaze into a broken soul with depths that had no end, and she wasn’t always able to make sense of what she saw. 

There was nothing else in the small space around her, and yet she somehow knew this was where he existed in the moments between their fateful encounters, that this was the bed where nightmares of his family plagued him night after night, just as nightmares of Amy had begun to creep their way into her unconscious mind as of late.

Although there was one object she had noticed to be missing from his room, and she didn’t know whether to be disappointed or relieved.

The journal was nowhere to be found, probably tucked into Flynn’s coat pocket, where she noticed he normally kept it close at hand. He carried that thing around like a bible and worshipped it like one too. She was almost glad he hadn’t left it for her to peruse, not sure if she would ever be ready to read the secrets of its pages. She was a firm believer that no one should really know what the future had in store, however tempting it may be.

Furthermore, she knew how much stock Flynn put in the journal, and couldn’t help but wonder why she would ever write something that would cause so much destruction, so much chaos.  She knew it was the reason he trusted her so implicitly, being the driving force behind his entire crusade. It was also why he sought her out time and time again, since according to him they were allegedly destined to work together. Or according to the journal, depending on perspective. Whether she liked it or not she was starting to see the truth in that prediction more and more, despite the fact that Flynn would have to coerce her to make it come true.

All of a sudden, the door to her little cell was flung open. And just as surely as if she’d summoned him with the very thought of his name, he appeared.

Flynn stood in the doorway casually with his arms crossed as he held her gaze with an amused smile, his outward persona completely different than the last time she had found herself at his mercy. After John Rittenhouse had escaped he’d been positively incensed, frenzied even, as the chance to bring his family back to life had slipped through his fingers. Or, more accurately, had been obstructed by Lucy’s intervention. Although his mania had died down a touch once they returned to the present and began preparing for the next attempt, his anger toward her had been an ever-present danger. A condition through which she had to carefully tread until her escape. However, this time he seemed an entirely different character altogether. Gone was the violent, rage filled murderer, replaced by something more relaxed and cavalier, if that undying smirk of his was any indication. He seemed more human to her, she realized, even if that meant an arrogant, witty, obnoxious one. But a human just the same. However, she reminded herself that facades could be deceiving, and the sleeping snake of his inner rage could be triggered at any moment. She still had to be cautious. 

Seeing that Lucy wasn’t going to make the first move in their exchange, Flynn took the lead, sauntering inside and closing the door behind him, his eyes never leaving her own. Outside she could hear the door being locked by his henchman, and she mentally cursed Flynn for being so annoyingly thorough about everything. There would be no escape, at least, not here.

She briefly tensed as Flynn began to approach her, but relaxed as she watched him take a seat in the desk chair across from her, leaning back contentedly as he pierced her with his stare.

“Did you sleep well?” Flynn asked politely. Again, the urge to smack him was palpable and none too easily repressed.

“Wasn’t as if I had much of a choice.” She bit back, glaring at him pointedly. If he was trying to be cordial it wasn’t working. She wouldn’t let him off the hook so easily, but he probably already knew that.

Flynn only smirked in reply before shrugging half-heartedly, as if to acknowledge that he probably deserved that. He simply continued to watch her intently, opting to let Lucy take the reins for now on whatever this conversation was supposed to be.

“So, we’re really doing this whole kidnapping thing again, huh?” She asked dryly, her shoulders slumping as she looked toward the locked door wistfully.

“It seems to be the only way I can get you to cooperate, so yes.”

“Right, because things went so well for you the first time.” She sneered, unable to help herself.

To her surprise, he chuckled in response. “Ah yes, outwitting me with Harry Houdini. I have to admit that was pretty clever.”

As ever, his double-edged compliments always caught her off guard, so she simply looked away, unsure of what to say. The silence between them stretched, but Flynn seemed comfortable enough to watch her as she attempted to fathom a reply.

“So why did you bring me here?” She finally asked. 

“Because I think I’m very close to finally bringing an end to all of this.” He answered gravely, his eyes narrowing in determination.

That caught her attention.

“Why didn’t you tell me that last night?” She demanded, standing up from the cot. “I would have lead with that over breaking into my house for cryptic late-night conversations.”

“I didn’t break in.” He interjected. “I knocked.”

Now was not the time for semantics, even if he did seem thoroughly amused by her growing irritation.

“Whatever. Answer the question.” She ordered sternly, crossing her arms in an attempt to look intimidating. It wasn’t working.

“I didn’t tell you,” Flynn began, leaning forward over his knees. “Because I had to be sure you wouldn’t tip off Agent Christopher about my plan.”

“Well you don’t have to worry about that now.” She grumbled bitterly, wondering if the team had already noticed she was missing, if they were looking for her. It was impossible to know, but Flynn seemed to sense the direction of her thoughts as his gaze softened.

“No.” He conceded. “But I am sorry that I had to resort to certain measures to bring you here. I know it didn’t do much to garner your trust.”

Her head snapped up sharply as brown eyes locked with green, each searching for something in the other’s depths. It was the first apology she could ever remember hearing from him, and to say she was gob smacked would have been an understatement. She did her best to retain a neutral composure under his scrutiny, even if she knew he could see right through it.

She was glad, if nothing else, that he seemed to be aware of the insanity of his whole operation, but it didn’t change the facts of what had been done.  

“Apologizing doesn’t make it right.” She said quietly, holding his gaze.

For Flynn’s part he took her reproach in stride, simply nodding his agreement as he stood from his chair, pacing as he prepared to delve into his would-be plan to take down Rittenhouse for good. It seemed that silent acquiescence was the closest thing to full blown regret she was going to get out of Flynn. He clearly had more pressing matters at hand.

“What if I told you that there was a way to eliminate every member of Rittenhouse all in one fell swoop.” He said. The very statement alone seemed to key him up in anticipation as he radiated with his own conviction. Lucy nearly rolled her eyes.

“I’d say you were desperate and probably lying.”

He actually had the nerve to laugh. “Believe me Lucy, this is very much real.”

“Care to elaborate?” She said skeptically. 

“You see, every twenty-five years Rittenhouse holds a summit where all of its members briefly convene in the same location for twenty-four hours.” He explained. “It’s next to impossible to find out when the next one will be, but lucky for us we aren’t looking to attend a meeting in this century anyway.”

“And where did you learn all this?” Images of a so-called Rittenhouse convention were swirling in her mind as she pictured an assemblage of old men dressed in corporate black-tie attire, all giving off a bland air of cartoonish villainy. She was sure her estimation couldn’t be any farther from the truth.

“You remember Julian Charvet, the man Lindbergh was supposed to contact after landing in Paris? Let’s just say he had an unexpected run in with yours truly.” A wicked grin graced his lips.  

“You were listening to our conversation.” She surmised irritably, realizing she’d been playing into Flynn’s game all along.

Flynn shrugged. “You got him to talk over a bottle of absinthe. Your way seemed better than the alternative.”

Lucy didn’t even want to contemplate what doing things his way would entail, though she could imagine it would be anything but merciful. She supposed she should be grateful she got to Lindbergh before Flynn could beat him to a pulp.

“So, he told you when the summit is going to be?” She questioned, Flynn’s plan starting to come together in her mind.

“No, unfortunately not.” He scowled. “But he did tell me about someone who could point us in the right direction.”

“Wait, let me just get this straight.” Lucy cut him off as understanding began to set in. “You want to go back to one of these meetings and what, kill every last one of them?”

Flynn could only stare back in reply as the weight of her words settled in the air, but his silence was answer enough.  

“You can’t be serious.” She blustered, backing away from him slightly. “You’re talking about killing dozens, maybe hundreds of people. Changing history in ways we can’t possibly predict.”

“Wouldn’t be anything I haven’t done before.” He countered brusquely. She could tell he was trying to be sarcastic, nonchalant even, but she wasn’t fooled. Despite his poorly controlled killing spree through history, she knew he took no pleasure in taking people's lives. Or at least, she hoped he didn’t.

“There has to be another way.” She protested, her voice cracking slightly. “I’m not a killer.”

“You don’t have to be, that’s my job.” He returned stonily, the icy quality of his words cutting her like a knife.

A cold, detached numbness settled over Lucy as the gravity of the situation began to set in, along with the realization that she really had no say in what was about to happen. She was going to be implicit in the outright murder of all of Rittenhouse. The very thought of so much death threatened to overwhelm her, the fact that she would share in the blame for the spilling of so much blood. How much would change? How many people would disappear from reality if they succeeded? How many more people would lose their sisters, mothers, or fathers as a consequence of what Flynn had planned?

What would Amy think of her? She thought dejectedly. Her long-lost sister’s face materialized in her mind’s eye, making Lucy’s heart ache as she reached for her locket out of habit, only to find it wasn’t there. She was suddenly alarmed as she registered the lack of its comforting weight around her neck, panicking at the thought of having lost the last piece of Amy she had left. 

“Looking for this?” She heard Flynn say, looking up to see him dangling the golden locket from his fingertips, just out of her reach.

“Give it back.” Her voice shook with uncontrolled rage as she felt hot tears pricking her eyes. It was as if Flynn was holding her very heart in his hands and threatening to squeeze it into submission at any given moment. But she refused to let him see her cry; it was a vulnerability she couldn’t afford.

“I’ll give it back when this is all over.” He said smoothly before tucking the locket back into his jacket pocket.

“If you think a necklace is enough to make me turn a blind eye to mass murder then you really don’t know me very well.” Even if the thought of losing her last pictures of Amy did break her heart, she knew she couldn’t let herself me bought so easily with such a petty bribe. She was better than that.

“I know you better than you think.” He said in a low voice before stepping into her personal space. “Which is why I know the only way to get you to cooperate is to threaten the two people you care for most.”

She gulped, struggling to suppress a shiver at the unguarded threat in his words, feeling utterly trapped by his proximity. His eyes were the coldest she’d ever seen them, utterly detached. He was a man on a mission and would not be stopped.

“Listen to me.” She started shakily, reaching out for the human part of him that had been exposed to her only moments ago. “It doesn’t have to be like this, Flynn. Agent Christopher knows about Rittenhouse. She can help us, we can work together. We can find another way-”

“No, you listen to me.” He said dangerously, craning his neck to look down at her. “We are going to find out where the summit is, and we are going to destroy Rittenhouse, together. If I so much as see Wyatt and Rufus, I won’t hesitate to take the shot. That is, unless you do as I ask. Your help for their lives. It’s a pretty fair trade, don’t you think?”

He was so close to her, practically had her backed into a literal corner as she internally mulled over his ultimatum. On one hand, there was no guarantee that Flynn would be able to hurt Wyatt and Rufus at all, seeing as he didn’t have them conveniently waiting in the wings of the Murder Castle like the last time he used her friends against her. Not only that, Lucy wasn't even sure Wyatt would be coming to her rescue at all, considering he was kicked off the team after his little joy ride to the 1980's. Unless Agent Christopher had managed to break him out, there was a chance that Wyatt's role in the fight against Rittenhouse was over. And she didn't know whether to feel relieved for his safety or completely abandoned.

However, she knew without a doubt that Rufus would follow, either accompanied by a fugitive Wyatt or some other army operative to take his place. And just because Flynn didn't have them now didn’t mean he couldn’t easily get ahold of them if he wanted to. He’d jumped them before, back in 1972, he could do it again. And they would be extremely vulnerable if they didn’t have Lucy there to guide them, making them even easier targets. Sitting ducks just waiting to be shot dead by Flynn’s careful aim. No, there were too many doubts, too many uncountable variables, too many things that could go wrong and leave Rufus (and whoever was with him) dead in the process. There really was no choice, it had already been made for her.

“So what’s it gonna be Lucy, are you going to help me or not?” He asked, a faint air of amusement coloring his voice as he repeated the same phrase he’d used to compel her help back in 1893. Odd, how she found herself right back where she started, talking to a stubborn brick wall of a man who wouldn’t change course for anything.

Unwilling to say out loud that yes, she was going to help him murder through time, she managed a jerking nod of her head, averting her eyes from his imploring gaze. But it seemed he was looking for the satisfaction of a verbal response. He reached out a hand and caught her chin with his calloused fingers, gently tipping her head up and forcing her to look him in the eye. There was nowhere to hide from him.

“Lucy?” Amazing how a wealth of questions could simply be summed up in saying her name. She held her breath a moment, afraid to say the words out loud, because she knew once she accepted that everything would become all too real. The silence dragged on, and eventually she let out a defeated sigh.

“Yes.” She ground out reluctantly. “Yes, I’ll help you.” 

Satisfied, a small smirk curled his lip before he finally let go of her chin, opting to take hold of her upper arm instead as he began to lead her toward the door. Her gut instinct was to resist his touch, but she realized it would be a pointless struggle. She’d already surrendered her right to fight back, she thought bitterly.

“Where are we going?” She asked nervously, chancing a look up at him through her eyelashes as he called for one of his lackeys to unbolt the door. He looked positively triumphant, as if things had gone exactly as he predicted, and she hated him for it.

“October 17th, 1931. Chicago. Seems like that city just can’t get enough of us.” He replied as the door swung open and she was guided through an empty hallway, her mind already racing with possible historical scenarios. They were accompanied by two of Flynn’s nameless goons as they trudged toward a hangar where the mothership was waiting. It seemed they weren’t wasting any time, as Flynn was already preparing to jump.

“Al Capone’s tax evasion trial?” She guessed, looking at him sidelong. “What could you possibly want there?” 

He grinned at the how quick she’d figured out his target, but wasn’t deigned to answer her question just yet.

“Come on Professor, let’s go save the world.” Flynn said playfully as he pulled her along with him towards the time machine, ready to embark on what could be their last mission to bring down Rittenhouse. To finally put an end to everything by doing the unthinkable.


	3. The Introduction to a Mobster

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyatt, Rufus, and Agent Christopher convene with a plan to steal the lifeboat back from Rittenhouse while trying to understand the mystery surrounding Lucy's disappearance. Meanwhile, Flynn and Lucy travel back to Chicago, 1931 to meet a notorious crime boss who we all know and love.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello! So, this chapter is essentially two scenes borrowed from the episode "Public Enemy No. 1" that I reworked to fit into my story, so I hope you like the changes I made. Not all the scenes from here on out will be borrowed from the episode, but I'm trying to more or less keep some continuity between canon events of the show, and my own interpretation. This chapter is a tad shorter than the first two, but lookout for a big hunk of reading in the next chapter. Anyway, I'm sorry about the terribly long amount of time between updates. I've been drowning in midterms and final papers, but I'll try to be more regular with my posting. With that said, enjoy!

_Wyatt_

“What do you mean she’s _gone?_ ” Wyatt demanded. He felt like the bottom had just dropped out of his world. It seemed just like Wyatt’s luck that once he could finally muster the courage to commit to some fleeting idea of possibilities, the woman he loved decided to vanish without a trace.

Wait…the woman he _loved_? 

“I mean she’s been taken, Wyatt. That much is clear, but by who we have no idea.” Agent Christopher explained. “When Lucy didn’t answer our calls I went to investigate myself, only to find her house empty and a shattered tea mug littering the floor.”

“You think there was some sort of struggle?” Wyatt surmised, already sifting through possible scenarios in his mind. But it was hard to be objective at the idea of someone attacking Lucy, and he found himself unable to focus.

“It’s possible, but there’s something else. We tested the liquid from the broken cup, just as a precaution, and found it was laced with Rohypnol.” Christopher added gravely.

“She was drugged.” Wyatt gathered, his voice shaking with rage. A strained silence was the best he could manage without completely losing his self-control.

“Who do you think took her?” Rufus asked quietly, just as affected by the news of Lucy’s disappearance. The sound of his teammate’s voice seemed to drag Wyatt back to reality.

“Do you think it was Rittenhouse? Would her father have sent someone for her?” He wondered aloud. The idea made his heart ache with equal parts fear and pity for their historian, for all that she’d suffered since this entire thing started. From losing her sister to finding out she was even more entrenched with Rittenhouse than she realized, time travel was steadily tearing apart the only life she’d ever known. And now she was missing.

“What about Flynn?” Rufus speculated. “He’s always been kind of obsessed with Lucy, and it wouldn’t be the first time he’s tried to kidnap her.”

If Wyatt thought he was uncomfortable before, he wasn’t prepared for the surge of outrage evoked by the thought of her being with _Flynn._ It almost made being kidnapped by Rittenhouse seem like a better alternative. He didn’t know much about the nefarious clandestine organization other than that they allegedly killed Flynn’s family and had been threatening Rufus over his recordings of their missions. No doubt such an organization would do anything but play fair, but their true intentions were still something of a mystery. Flynn on the other hand, was an opponent with whom Wyatt was extremely familiar. One who had no restraint, and nothing to lose. If Lucy was with him, there was no telling what he had planned, but Wyatt was sure it could be nothing good. He was also sure he would kill Flynn where he stood if he so much as hurt a single hair on Lucy’s head. And he was almost startled at his own protective instinct; it had been a while since he felt that way about someone. Almost six years, to be exact.

“There’s no way to be sure who took her until we have more information.” Christopher determined, breaking Wyatt’s murderous train of thought. “But while we know-”

Her voice was suddenly cut off by the vibrations of Rufus’ phone, the sound of the Star Wars Imperial March erupting obnoxiously from his back pocket.

Despite the seriousness of the current situation Wyatt still had to suppress the urge to laugh. “That’s the ringtone you picked for work calls, Rufus?”

“Don’t act like you’re surprised.” Rufus rolled his eyes before bringing the phone to his ear and turning aside to take the call in private.

Even Agent Christopher looked faintly amused, revealing a brief lapse in her normally stern composure.

“I guess Rufus was right.” Christopher said abruptly.

Wyatt’s eyes flicked up to her steady brown gaze.  “Right about what?”

She smiled at him fondly. “You really have started to ‘gel as a team’, as he put it.”

He was a bit taken aback by the unguarded tenderness in her tone, as their relationship had been strictly professional up until now. All business.

 _You need to eliminate Garcia Flynn._ She had said. The command had been repeated like a mantra, practically the only understanding that had been really necessary between them regarding the mission and the end result. It was just another assignment after all.

Except, it wasn’t really. At least, not anymore. Wyatt was technically a fugitive of the U.S. government, Christopher had been dismissed from the case, and Rufus was now being openly coerced by Rittenhouse. The dividing lines between the right and wrong sides were blurrier than ever, as it was hard to tell whether Flynn or Rittenhouse was the deadlier threat in the bigger picture of history. Although in the midst of the chaos there was one certainty, and it was that after everything they had been through they could trust each other without a shred of doubt. But there was someone missing without whom the team would never be truly whole.

“It’s not a team without her.” He replied, the words coming out harsher than he intended. But Christopher only gave him a knowing look, her eyes softening.

“We’ll get her back.” She assured. “I promise.”

Promises didn’t mean much to Wyatt at the moment, considering nobody had any idea where Lucy was or what had happened to her. But he appreciated the sentiment all the same. It was nice to have people in his corner, people he could really depend on. And for the first time since they’d broken the news about Lucy’s disappearance he felt like there might actually be some hope of getting her back. He would find her. He had to.

“That was Mason Industries.” Rufus said, turning back to the group and lowering his phone from his ear.

“Or Rittenhouse, to be more precise.” Christopher corrected somberly. 

Wyatt and Rufus’ heads snapped up in unison. “What do you mean?” 

Christopher heaved a heavy sigh. It seemed she was always fated the be the bearer of bad news. “The guys in control of Mason industries? They’re Rittenhouse.”

Rufus, in near predictable fashion, bugged his eyes in shock as his jaw dropped to the floor. “ _What?_ Are you serious? What are we going to do?”

“Rufus, it’s fine.” Wyatt tried to pacify him, a little shocked at his own sense of inward calm. He figured he had lost the amount of energy needed to be surprised at this point, since Rittenhouse was becoming more and more brazen by the day. 

“No, it’s _not_ fine. Jiya is there right now. This is Rittenhouse we’re talking about, they could kill her! And what am I supposed to do, just go into work and pretend like everything is normal?”

“Yes.” Wyatt replied easily. “That’s exactly what you’re going to do”.

Rufus could only stare at him in disbelief as he struggled to control his obvious panic. “How are you so calm right now?”

“Because I’ve been through a lot in the last couple of days.” Wyatt answered, the conviction in his voice growing. “And I fought it for a long time. And you can call it fate, or God, or the force, but I am meant to do something. I am meant to protect this team. You and Lucy. I see that now. And I will.”

It was a sore punch to his gut, and his pride, that he had done such a monumentally terrible job of protecting them up to this point. Sure, he tossed a few bullets here and there, saved their asses a handful of times from the standard bad guys. But that was just work, just tactical competence. Looking out for the safety of an asset was something entirely different than going out of your way to protect someone you actually cared about. Someone you loved. Again, Lucy’s pale face appeared in his mind, as if she were standing there with him now, smiling at him reassuringly. He had failed her once, and now she had paid the price. He wouldn’t make the same mistake again.

Meanwhile, Rufus and Christopher were staring at him like he was a soap box speaker with a few loose screws.

“You do realize you sound like a crazy person, right?” Rufus teased, but there was no bite in his tone. He was glad to see Wyatt coming back to himself.

“He sounds like-” Agent Christopher began before stopping abruptly, Lucy’s name hanging in the air like an unspoken prayer. It was almost as if saying her name out loud forced them to acknowledge that she wasn’t there beside them.

“We’re going to get her back.” Wyatt repeated Christopher’s earlier vow. And the more he said it, the more he believed it.

Agent Christopher cleared her throat, turning her attention to Rufus. “So, what did Mason want? Did Flynn jump?”

Evidently, Christopher wasn’t being kept in the loop anymore concerning the latest developments at Mason Industries since her untimely dismissal by Agent Neville. It seemed her and Wyatt were both outsiders to the operation now.

“No, he didn’t jump.” Rufus responded slowly. “But they said they figured out a way to take him out for good, and that this would be our last mission.” 

“Well that’s not cryptic at all. I wonder what they’re up to.” Wyatt huffed.

“It doesn’t matter what they have planned.” Christopher cut in. “We can’t let Rittenhouse have the lifeboat. Who knows what they’ll do with it. If what Anthony told Lucy was true, they could be even worse than Flynn.” 

The truth of Christopher’s words settled over them in silence as they all internally mulled over their options. They were caught between a rock and a hard place, forced to choose between the greater of two evils in an impossible situation. Honorable as Flynn’s intentions may have been in hoping to bring back his deceased family, he was still on an unchecked rampage through time, changing the fabric of reality as they now knew it. Whether it was Flynn or Rittenhouse, someone had to stand in their way. Someone had to protect history.

“We have to steal back the lifeboat.” Wyatt resolved. It seemed like the only solution. There was no other choice. 

“Right, because you’ll definitely have more luck stealing it a second time around.” Rufus grumbled, and this time he wasn’t able to keep the sharpness from his voice. Wyatt and Agent Christopher both looked at him pointedly in a form of silent agreement, as they were already on the same page.

“Well I’m not going to be the one stealing it this time, buddy.” Wyatt smirked as Rufus’ face sagged in what could only be described as an absolutely flabbergasted expression. It took a few moments for him to collect himself.

Rufus couldn’t help but stutter nervously. “So, what? You want me to steal the lifeboat again, all by myself? How the hell am I supposed to do that?”

A plan was already starting to take shape in Wyatt’s mind, and he knew Rufus wasn’t going to like it one bit. “Here’s what we’re going to do…”

 

* * *

 

_Lucy_

By her count, this was Lucy’s third trip to the 1930’s, and she was finding that the third time around really _wasn’t_ the charm. Quite the opposite in fact. It didn’t have the allure and glamour of the 1920’s jazz age, nor the jovial, domestic appeal of the later 1940’s. No, the 1930’s, ridden with unemployment, social inequality, and a devastated stock market, was not a fun time at all. Especially when one was accompanied by an unpredictable, moody time travelling terrorist who wouldn’t give you more than an arm’s length of space. He was practically glued to her, but she supposed that was because he was intimately familiar with her ability to slip through his fingers. Needless to say, opportunities for escape had been little to none.

They were currently making their way steadily but purposefully through the bustling streets of depression-era Chicago, and the sight of so much poverty and suffering almost made Lucy want to go back to the city’s more prosperous years during the World’s Columbian exposition. Almost, but not quite. Nothing in the world was worth a second encounter with the Murder Castle, or its owner.

The sky was a characteristic overcast grey, much reflecting the dismal impression of the people milling about the alleyways, looking hungry, desperate, and defeated. She hated to admit that she identified with the feeling, although the source of her oppression was less the result of poorly timed economic downturn and more to do with the giant of a man currently blackmailing her into submission.

She sighed internally at the absurd nature of her situation.  _Will my life ever be normal again?_

Although she had the sinking feeling she already knew the answer to that question.

The pair wove their way through the downtrodden crowds arm in arm, much to Lucy’s chagrin, with Karl keeping pace three steps behind them, obscured by the masses of people but never entirely out of sight. He was the only one of Flynn’s lackeys who’s name she actually knew, which would have given him a slightly more human impression if it weren’t for the way he was constantly leering at her. Lucy struggled to suppress a shudder at the thought of being left alone with him, should the need arise for Flynn to make a solo excursion.

Noticing her shaking, Flynn’s eyes flicked to hers as they waited to cross another street. “Are you cold?” He murmured.

“Like you care.” She rebuffed him, refusing to meet his gaze as she pulled her shawl more tightly around her.

Of all the clothes he could have stolen for her, he couldn’t have picked something warmer? The unforgivable wind whipped through the material of her dress and sent shivers down her spine. Although, despite not being practical, she did have to admit (however begrudgingly) that it was one of her favorite period outfits thus far. Thankfully, Flynn hadn’t insisted on matching colors this time around, so she had been spared another burgundy ensemble. This dress was a rich dark green, made of some sort of chiffon-like material that flattered her pale features nicely. Not to mention it also did wonders for her figure, as it gathered smartly just under her bust and sported the historically trendy butterfly sleeves, giving her a slender, wispy sort of air.

Come to think of it, if he wasn’t holding her against her will she might have found his keen fashion sense oddly charming. But as fate would have it, she wasn’t in the position nor the state of mind to be paying him any compliments.  

He brushed off her rejection with ease, simply adjusting his fedora and straightening his coat before taking her arm and setting off again. He seemed to accept that he had her right where he wanted her, and that she was obligated to help him, but that she would never truly trust him. He supposed having her by his side was enough, however he had to force her to be there.

“Are you sure this is going to work?” Flynn asked her under his breath, his grip involuntarily tightening on her arm as he fought to stay close to her amongst the advancing horde of morning workers.

“As sure as I can be.”

“He might not take us seriously.” Flynn warned.

“He will when I tell him what will happen if he doesn’t.” Lucy insisted, exceedingly annoyed by Flynn’s lack of faith in her. He was forcing her to be accomplice to his scheme. The least he could do was just let her do her job without all the micromanaging.

“As if he’s just going to take your word for it.” He scoffed disbelievingly.

“Well I suppose that’s why we got both the ledger _and_ the letter as proof. What more do you want?”

Before Flynn could offer what would definitely have been yet another snarky reply, the pair found themselves standing before the glamorous double doors of the Lexington Hotel, otherwise known as the primary residence of the infamous Al Capone.

Lucy felt like she was about to walk onto the frontlines of a figurative battle, except their ammunition was less in the form of guns (although Flynn had those too) and more in the way of incriminating documents. The moment they had landed in 1931 Flynn already knew what he would need in order to get into Al Capone’s good graces, planning on stealing the worst of the evidence needed to indict him for tax evasion. What he didn’t know was how to obtain said evidence, but that was what Lucy was for. She hated that she knew exactly where the Treasury Department archives were and despaired at how unbelievably easy it had been to break in unnoticed. Flynn was understandably pleased with Lucy as his newfound asset, and he was using her for all she was worth. Hating herself for what she was doing, Lucy had considered refusing to cooperate on more than one occasion. But there wasn’t really any other choice with Flynn threatening to kill Rufus and Wyatt on sight should she refuse. Although the threat was groundless without her teammates at his disposal, there was no telling when they would inevitably turn up. The mothership’s CPU was linked to the Lifeboat, so they would chase after Flynn like they always did, and she wasn’t about to let Flynn lead them right into another trap.

“You ready for this?” Flynn asked, breaking her concentration. He was peering down at her intently, strands of brown hair falling into his eyes.

“As ready as I’ll ever be to meet a notoriously ruthless gangster who’s probably going to try to kill us.” She admitted, unable to stop her nerves from tightening her throat as she spoke. Obviously, this was not a historical icon she had ever pictured herself meeting, and for good reason. 

Flynn simply nodded. “Just stay close.”

Her brow furrowed at his concern for her, but she said nothing as he opened the door for her in a mock-gentleman like manner before following her inside, Karl falling in line behind them. They were greeted by the warm light of the overhanging chandeliers, casting the extravagant lobby in a pleasant glow. Although Lucy had never been to the Lexington hotel in person, she wasn’t at all surprised by what she saw, as it corroborated everything she’d ever read about the crime boss they were about to meet. Lavish leather sofas lined the walls of the hall, along with expensive looking artworks and detailed wallpaper reaching all the way up to the ceiling. There was a large concierge desk situated against the left side of the space, and dozens of people were coming and going in every direction. Finally, at the far end of the room she was entertained by the sight of an indoor mini-golf course spread across the marble tile floor. However, all traces of amusement were gone when she saw exactly who was getting their putter in line for a shot.  

There before her, Al Capone was playing indoor mini-golf. 

Her breath nearly caught in her throat at the sight of him, but luckily it was Flynn’s turn to take the reins on their operation. Flynn’s eyes landed on Karl, a clear message in his eyes as he left Lucy under his watch before stepping away to speak with one of Capone’s nearby lieutenants. Lucy watched him walk away and almost missed his presence as Karl sidled up beside her, unnervingly close. He didn’t go so far as to touch her, but she could see the pleasure he took in watching her discomfort. Between him and Flynn she was getting pretty fed up with all the masculine posturing and knowing smirks. Hopefully she wouldn’t have to endure said taunting for much longer. If she could only find an opening, a chance to slip away unnoticed. But that opportunity hadn’t presented itself just yet.

After a few moments of hushed bickering between Flynn and Capone’s cohort, the latter finally gave in and gestured for Flynn to follow him to the back. Flynn promptly followed with Lucy and Karl close behind, the three of them stopping just at the edge of the artificial green turf where Capone’s private game was taking place. The other man hesitantly approached his boss, who had just knocked his golf ball into the final hole with a gentle swing. The lieutenant rested his hand on the other man’s shoulder before leaning in and whispering something about a mysterious man claiming to have something worth Capone’s immediate attention. 

At first Capone simply bent over and plucked his golf ball out of the hole without acknowledging them, rolling it between his fingers as he weighed whether or not he cared to hear what the newcomers had to say. Finally, he turned to face them, his legendary scars on full display as he stared at Flynn with thinly veiled scrutiny. He didn’t even seem to notice Karl and Lucy in the background.

“Frankie says you have something of vital interest to me.” Capone said, feigning indifference as he sized Flynn up with his cold, stony eyes.

Flynn didn’t waste any time. “These tax ledgers were seized in a raid on one of your establishments a few years ago, key evidence in the tax evasion case they’re building against you.”

It was odd hearing Flynn recite the same words she’d said to him while explaining the crucial nature of the tax ledgers in Al Capone’s trial. She almost felt like a professor again, listening to a student attempting to reconstruct the key components of an important historical event. It was a little jarring to say the least.

Capone eyed Flynn suspiciously a moment longer before moving to examine the tax ledger Flynn had provided, leafing through the pages impassively. He was impossible to read.

“Where’d you get these?” Capone asked, not bothering to lift his eyes.

“Post office believe it or not. Treasury department keeps a poorly guarded file room there, Mr. Capone.” Flynn answered matter-of-factly as he dared to address Capone by name, a gesture which was not lost on the standoffish gangster.

The temperature in the room seemed to instantly drop ten degrees lower the moment Capone raised his gaze to level with Flynn’s. He looked like a sleeping animal that had just been unwittingly provoked.

“That’s your big gift?” He said disdainfully, and Lucy felt her blood go cold. “As if they’re gonna get me for tax evasion. Get them outta here!”

Thrown into a panic as Capone’s goons started to advance on them, the words erupted from Lucy’s mouth before she could think better of it. “We also have a letter from your accountant, Mr. Mattingly. He made some very scandalous accusations.”

The henchmen halted in their approach and even Al Capone looked a little startled as all eyes turned on Lucy.

“And who are you?” Capone asked shrewdly, his eyes raking over her with no shame. She shifted uncomfortably under his gaze, almost unsure of how to answer. She and Flynn hadn’t really discussed any aliases or names in an effort to keep their stories straight. She was about to label herself as Flynn’s sister when he unexpectedly beat her to the punch.

“This is my wife, Lucy.” Flynn clarified smoothly, not bothered by Lucy’s predictable flinch at the insinuation of them being married. His eyes locked with hers across the room and he fixed her with a look as if to say, _do you know what you’re doing?_

She honestly couldn’t say whether or not she did but tried to affect the confidence of someone who knew exactly what she was talking about. She kept her gaze level with Flynn’s and gave a nearly imperceptible nod of her head, willing him to go along with her strategy with nothing more than her eyes.

He seemed to get the message.

Clearing his throat, Flynn slowly reached into his coat pocket before producing an unsealed envelope and presenting it silently to Capone, who took it with a look of actual curiosity. It appeared that they had finally peaked his interest. Or, more accurately, that Lucy had.

Capone tore open the envelope and scanned it quickly, his eyes roving over the paper as his expression darkened with understanding. The reality of the situation was finally starting to set in for him.

“With this evidence, believe me, you’ll be going to prison.” Lucy asserted, a confident edge to her voice. Al Capone only nodded in agreement before turning to his lieutenant. 

“Pay Mr. Mattingly a visit. Make sure he can’t write any more letters.” He ordered. Lucy inwardly cringed knowing she had just played a part in sentencing an innocent man to probable death, all for testifying against the most feared crime boss in Chicago. Meanwhile, Flynn didn’t seem too troubled by the idea of the accountant’s imminent demise. In fact, as she flicked her eyes to him again, Lucy might have guessed he actually looked _proud_. It was not a feeling that sat well with her.

“I guess I owe you a debt of gratitude.” Capone turned his attention back to Flynn and Lucy, his gaze lingering on the latter. “Let me know if there’s anything I can do for you.”

Flynn smiled, as if those were just the words he’d been waiting to hear. “I’m sure we can work something out.”


	4. The Trial of the Century

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Rufus succeeds in stealing the lifeboat, leaving him, Wyatt, and Denise to decide their next plan of action, as well as how to find their missing teammate. Meanwhile, Lucy and Flynn attend Al Capone's trial, where she tries to get a better understanding of Flynn's motivations.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey guys. Here's another chapter just for you. I'm trying to be more on top of my updates, and I think it's working (for now). Expect lots of pining from Wyatt/Lucy, lot's of extra from Flynn, and characteristic nervous panicking from Rufus. So in other words, expect the usual. Once again, I've used some scenes from the original episode but have either altered or considerably lengthened them to fit into my greater narrative, adding in extra scenes here and there to give it some more depth and texture, so I hope you guys like it. Feedback is always appreciated, I love reading your comments so don't hesitate to tell me what you think. Enjoy!

_Wyatt_

With every minute that passed, Wyatt found himself becoming more and more anxious. He turned to Agent Christopher, who was deep in thought, her gaze distant and far away. 

"Do you think he was able to pull it off?" Wyatt wondered aloud. Christopher didn't flinch as his gruff voice broke the tense silence, only cut her eyes to him. 

"No way to know." She replied evenly. "All we can do is wait."

There was something about her uncanny ability to keep it all together that put Wyatt even more on edge, as she was seemingly unaffected by the possibility of their plan going terribly awry. He could appreciate Rufus’ earlier frustration with him, since he was originally able to put up a relatively calm, collected front. But his patience was wearing dangerously thin, as the possibility of failure began to creep in at the edges of his confidence, and he was assaulted with the idea of losing both Lucy _and_ Rufus. And after failing Jessica for what felt like a second time, Wyatt wasn’t sure how many more losses he would survive.

Christopher must have noticed the soldier’s rising panic because she turned back to him abruptly.

“Do you trust Rufus?” She asked him, her gaze steady and imploring.

“With my life.” Wyatt answered somewhat defensively, as if there was a reality in which he would answer any differently. It was a small comfort to him knowing how far the three of them had come, from total strangers, to distrusting comrades, and now to genuine friends. If he was being honest with himself, they were the two people who meant the most to him in the world.

“Then you should trust that he’ll make it back to us.” She advised, before adding. “I know I do.”

Wyatt was taken aback, if not by her directness, but by the fact that she was _right,_ and that she _cared._ He should have known better by now than to lump her in with every other detached, unfeeling government operative he’d worked with in the past. If there was one thing that had been made clear by now, it was that she had not been cut from the same cloth as everyone else. They wouldn’t have made it this far otherwise; Rittenhouse would have already snuffed out their feeble resistance before it even had the chance to start. It was her combination of empathy and initiative that had carried them through the storm, her undying instinct to do what was right coupled with her unintended bond with the time travelling trio. He knew that behind her deceptively stable composure she was just as worried about the other two members of the team as he was. And that was the strongest advantage she had. Not that she had everything figured out, but the idea that she _didn’t_ , and was more than willing to admit it. 

 _Nobody has it all together,_ he remembered saying as he watched Judith Campbell waltz away from them back in Vegas. And although he was the one who said so, it was not until this moment that he clearly saw the truth in his own words. They were both struggling, the two of them waiting out what could possibly be the longest three hours of Wyatt’s life. Yet, despite whatever fear she may have felt for Rufus, the older woman was the image of absolute fortitude. Because it wasn’t that Denise Christopher had it all together, not at all, it was that she had _faith._ She believed in the team, believed that everything would come out all right in the end, and that was everything.

Wyatt was scrambling to fathom a sufficient reply but was drowned out by the unusual yet familiar sound of the air around them humming, practically vibrating with energy. He barely had a moment to process the sensation before the lifeboat promptly exploded into existence just a few yards away in the center of the empty warehouse, the metal rings spinning rapidly before slowing to a stop with an audible click.

 _He made it._ Wyatt thought with relief, almost as if a literal weight had been lifted from his chest.

However, stern pragmatism swiftly took hold of Wyatt’s mind as he watched Agent Christopher draw her gun and approach the lifeboat cautiously. He quickly followed suit, his glock a steady weight in his hand as he advanced toward the opening hatch. Although Rufus was the only one who could pilot the time machine, there was no telling who he had been forced to bring along. They couldn’t take any risks.

Suddenly, the circular hatch door opened and the inner cockpit of the ship was revealed. All too quickly Wyatt’s sense of apprehension was replaced by the impulse to laugh.

There, in the pilot’s seat quivering like a wet dog in the rain, was Rufus, tranquilizer gun in hand pointed at an unconscious man slumped over in his seat. The tranquilizer dart was embedded in the man’s thigh, unnervingly close to the agent’s crotch, so close that it looked almost intentional.

Wyatt eyed Rufus mockingly. “Really, Rufus, I know he’s probably a Rittenhouse Agent, but come on. Did you have to shoot him in the balls?”

Surprisingly, despite his apparent alarm, Rufus was still able to muster a half-hearted dirty look as his eyes turned on Wyatt. “As if I did it on purpose.” He objected, loosening his seat belt with shaking hands.

“You did it.” Wyatt assured him, helping him down from the rim of the opening. “You held it like I said, huh?”

“Yeah, pulled the trigger between breaths.” Rufus affirmed, a bit of color rising in his cheeks. He almost sounded proud of himself.

“I knew you could do it.” Christopher smiled approvingly at a sheepish Rufus.

“Rufus, you’re a bad ass.” Wyatt agreed, grinning at his teammate.

“If by badass you mean scared out of my mind.” Rufus chuckled nervously as he brushed off his retro clothes, sporting a tacky yellow sweater and oversized black coat.

Wyatt eyed him curiously as he came to stand beside Agent Christopher. “So where did they send you? The original JC Penny blowout sale?”

Rufus grimaced as he looked down at his outfit before responding, “No, they sent us to May 3rd, 1962.”

“What does that have to do with Flynn?” Christopher questioned, the affectionate moment passing away.

“Do you remember that woman Flynn was following on our mission to save the moon launch? Maria Thompkins?” Rufus addressed Wyatt, a grim look settling on his features.

“Yeah, Flynn’s mother.” Wyatt recalled. “She was a secretary at NASA.”

“Well, in 1962 she was a 17-year-old girl living in Houston, Texas. Rittenhouse sent us back to kill her, to make sure that Flynn was never born.” Rufus explained solemnly, his face contorting in disgust at the thought of doing something so unspeakable.

Both Wyatt and Agent Christopher looked just as appalled as Rufus felt, at a loss for words as they all came to grips with just how ruthless Rittenhouse really was. Apparently collateral damage and innocent lives meant very little in comparison to self-preservation where they were concerned.

Wyatt cleared his throat before quietly saying, “You did the right thing, Rufus. If Rittenhouse is running the shop then they can’t have the time machine.”

“Believe me, no one understands that better than I do.” Rufus replied soberly. Wyatt could sense the pilot’s justified discomfort, as he and his family had been threatened by Rittenhouse on more than one occasion. Sometimes Wyatt had to take a moment to remember that Rufus and Agent Christopher had a world outside of this mess. They had families to protect, lives to go back to. Unlike him, who had nothing waiting for him at home except an empty apartment and another assignment to risk his life for. He wondered if he could ever be more than just someone’s hired muscle, although it was with a start that he supposed he already was. Sure, in the technical ordering of the team roles, he was the designated soldier. But the three of them had already gone so far above and beyond what the so-called job description originally entailed. They meant something to each other, that much he knew with absolute certainty. They all played their part, and they all picked each other up when they fell down. Although, if he was being honest, it was Lucy who did that more than anyone else.

The thought of her brought on a surge of emotion he wasn’t prepared for, edging somewhere between a swell of yearning and the unyielding grip of fear. They were still groping in the dark in terms of finding out what had happened to her, and he found he wasn’t willing to sit back and wait much longer. She had already been missing for far too long.

“So, they can’t track us? You shut them down?” Wyatt asked Rufus, his tone suddenly urgent.

“Yeah, but it’s only a matter of hours before Mason is able to counteract the worm and get the network back online. I slipped Jiya the burner phone so she might be able to slow him down, but there’s no way to be sure.” Rufus’ forehead creased with worry at the mention of his girlfriend, knowing she would probably hate him for not clueing her in on the plan sooner. But it was the only way to keep her safe, or at least that’s what he told himself.

“How much time does that give us?” Christopher inquired, ever aware of the irony of wondering how much time they had when there was a literal time machine waiting in the wings.

“The lifeboat’s battery is drained after two jumps. It’ll need four hours to recharge, if it even can, and that’s-”

“Okay, it’s all right. One step at a time.” Wyatt deliberately repeated his familiar catch phrase, if only for the satisfaction of seeing Rufus bristle. “First step, now that we have the lifeboat, we need to figure out what happened to Lucy.”

Rufus’ expression darkened. “I hate to tell you, but I think I already know.”

“What do you mean?” Christopher asked before Wyatt could beat her to it. The soldier could feel himself tensing in anticipation, afraid of what he was about to hear. He fought the instinct to prepare himself for the worst.

Rufus shifted uncomfortably on his feet before lifting his eyes to Wyatt’s. “Agent Neville and the rest of his team seemed just as confused about Lucy’s disappearance as we were.” Rufus said. “They even asked me about the last time I’d seen her, and I don’t think they were putting on a show, which means-”

“Which means there’s only one other person who could have taken her.” Christopher deduced.

“Flynn.” Wyatt growled through gritted teeth. “We have to go after him.”

“You and I both know that tracking Flynn in the present is next to impossible.” Christopher pointed out. “It took Jiya weeks to pin point his base in Oakland, and that was with the whole of Mason’s IT team backing her up.”

“There has to be something we can do.” Wyatt protested angrily. He refused to simply sit back and do nothing, not when Lucy’s life was on the line. Who knew what Flynn could possibly be doing to her at that very moment?

As if on cue, a dull alarm erupted from inside the Lifeboat. Rufus, drawn to the sound like a magnet, was on his feet and hoisting himself up through the hatch before either Wyatt or Christopher could offer to help.

“What is it, Rufus?” Wyatt called as he ran up alongside the machine, a little taken aback by the fact that for once he was actually hoping that Flynn was up to no good.

Rufus poked his head out of the circular opening, looking equal parts giddy and anxious. “Flynn jumped.”

Wyatt felt some of his tension burn off as the words left Rufus’ mouth. At the same time a burst of adrenaline flooded his body, as he prepared himself for the fight to come. And fight he would.

“When?”

* * *

_Lucy_

Th trial had been, as Lucy predicted, a complete and utter sham. It was amazing to her that no one in the room was willing to say what they were all thinking: that the proceedings had been undeniably rigged.

Without the material evidence needed to lawfully convict him, the prosecutors had been left without a leg to stand on. They actually went so far as to (however accurately) accuse someone of stealing their testimony in an effort to obstruct the court proceedings, but the judge couldn’t seem to care less, looking as if the entire arraignment was a waste of his time. Meanwhile the jurors and spectators clustered around the courtroom actually outright laughed, flinging epithets and even physical rubbish at the flustered prosecution.

Despite her initial shock she had to remind herself that the people of Chicago actually adored Al Capone, and that the general public had neither wanted or expected him to go to prison over something as petty as tax evasion. Thus, cheering on his ability to weasel his way out of prison was just a matter of cultural fealty.

Hot, burning anger simmered beneath her skin, humming in her fingertips as she watched Capone and his posse rise from the defense council table and make their way to toward the back exit amongst enthusiastic whoops and shouts from the public observers. Even the press was in a frenzy, scribbling frantically on their note pads, snapping photos, and hollering incoherent questions at the victorious gangster as he passed them by with an air of self-satisfaction.

She tried to imagine, however uselessly, how this day had originally gone, with Capone unceremoniously thrown off of his throne of crime and marched promptly off to prison. Would the people have been so cheerful then?

 _Well, now they’ll never know._ Lucy thought, a sour taste in her mouth. It was her who did this, however unintentional her actions may have been. In retrospect she should have just let Al Capone throw them out into the street. It would have foiled Flynn’s plan before it even got off the ground. But she had to go open her big mouth in her panic, of course. Although she couldn’t shoulder all of the blame. She knew Flynn would have found another way into Capone’s inner circle with or without her help, he wasn’t one to give up so easily.

 _What does he even need Capone for?_   She wondered, glancing at Flynn sidelong, trying to gage the angle of his operation. But he had been incredibly tight lipped about the real aim of his plan so far.

Flynn had been mostly silent during the court proceedings, showing neither approval nor distaste at what was unfolding before him. He simply watched, digesting all of the information objectively as the trial unraveled exactly how he foresaw, drawing him closer to his end goal…whatever that was. He hardly payed Lucy much attention during the whole affair aside from the occasional sideways glance to ensure she didn’t have any illusions about slipping away in the throngs of people passing by. She was grateful for the few moments she had to herself, unaccompanied by Flynn’s manhandling or Karl’s disconcerting closeness when she was left under his watch.

Come to think of it, she actually wasn’t sure where Karl had run off to, as he seemed to separate from the group when they all left the hotel for the trial. She had no idea what mysterious errand Flynn had sent the scoundrel on, but she was sure it couldn’t be anything good.

Lucy squirmed somewhat uncomfortably in her seat as Capone and his band approached the audience benches where her and Flynn were seated. The mobster had insisted that _Mr. and Mrs. Flynn_ join him today, to be by his side and see the look on Eliot Ness’ face when he managed to dodge the futile consequences of justice yet again.

Of all the people there, Lucy sympathized with Ness the most. He was just a stand-up guy trying to do the right thing. But now with Capone still on the loose, he would definitely have a target on his back. She feared the ‘untouchable’ one might not be able to live up to his namesake after today.

Capone met them at the rear of the courthouse with a smug smile on his face, clapping Flynn heartily on the back as he thanked them for their help.

“Boy, were you right. They really were out to get me over some bull tax files.” He snickered.

“I’m glad we were able to get to you before it was too late.” Flynn acknowledged, smiling thinly in return. It was all an act Lucy knew, a front to get something he needed. Capone, perceptive as he was, seemed to notice it too, as he moved on to more pressing matters. Chiefly being his growing interest in Lucy.

“Well I owe my thanks to you and the missus.” He returned, shaking Flynn’s hand firmly before taking Lucy’s fingertips in his own and kissing the back of her hand, his eyes sparkling with mischief. She might have imagined it, but she could have sworn she felt Flynn flinch. Although she was too preoccupied with containing her own revulsion to give it much further attention. A polite smile and bow of her head was the best she could manage without physically wrenching her hand out of his grasp, as Capone seemed to care very little about her fictitious marriage. Not that she cared much for it either, but at least it theoretically kept her out of reach from unwanted advances. Theoretically.

Seeming to sense a bit of tension, Capone gave Lucy some space and threw Flynn what might pass as a sarcastically apologetic smirk. Almost as if to say, ‘you know how it is, I just can’t help myself’. Flynn took the gesture in stride but said nothing. The whole exchange made Lucy want to simultaneously throw up and kick the unruly mob boss where she knew it would hurt. But it was Al Capone who eventually broke the silence, seeming to remember why he had approached the couple in the first place.

“And make no mistake, I intend to pay you back in full. We can discuss the arrangements on our way back to the Lexington after I finish with my press conference.” He assured candidly, before giving Flynn a friendly pat on the shoulder and slipping outside with his gang clustered around him like a pack.

Lucy watched them warily as they drifted away through the crowd before turning her attention to Flynn, who was observing her with a strained look on his face.

“ _What?”_ Lucy asked as his eyes bored into her own, almost as if she had done something to annoy him.

The sound of her voice seemed to snap him out of his haze as he sighed and muttered, “Can’t take you anywhere without some historical figure fawning all over you”.

Lucy felt herself flush with heat rising in her cheeks, averting her eyes from Flynn’s as she tried to figure out what _that_ meant. It wasn’t her fault that everyone from Robert Lincoln to Ian Fleming and now even Al Capone had thrown some heart eyes her way. Flynn had no right to be jealous anyway, made up marriage or not. Or maybe he was just looking out for her safety. Either way, she had no interest in whatever protective impulses he may have been having.

“I can take care of myself, thank you.” She replied curtly, crossing her arms. Flynn only grinned sardonically but offered no further comment on the matter.

The sound of shuffling feet and the surrounding chatter seemed to refocus his attention though, as he realized they needed to catch up with their gangster cohort.

“Come on.” He whispered, placing his hand on the small of her back. “We’re going to miss the show.”

Lucy tensed at the contact but made no move to resist as she figured it was better than being tugged along by a grip on her upper arm, which she was sure would have some faint bruising by now. Although that was the least of her worries at the moment, as everything about the last few hours had felt inherently _wrong,_ like someone had taken the ending to one of her favorite novels and just completely rewritten the last chapter, botching it in the process. None of this was supposed to happen, and for once, there was no moral dilemma about whether history should be protected. For as sociable and outwardly friendly as Capone seemed to the public, he was in all reality a very dangerous criminal. He was solely responsible for the St. Valentine’s Day massacre, among many other exploits, and had to be stopped before he hurt more innocent people. She couldn’t let him just literally get away with murder, free to continue his unopposed reign over the Chicago underworld. There had to be a way to put things right, to make things go back to some semblance of how they were supposed to be.

What she couldn’t figure out was how on Earth she was going to do it. Or, more specifically, how she was going to get away from Flynn.

The sun was peeking through the clouds by the time she and Flynn emerged onto the front steps of the Chicago Courthouse, and they found that the impromptu press conference was already in full swing.

“What can I say? The crooked lawyers for the prosecution somehow lost all the evidence they had on me.” She heard Al Capone’s mocking tone from the podium where every journalist in town seemed to be cramming for a look at the crime boss who couldn’t be caught.

 _Not lost evidence_ , Lucy thought grudgingly, _but stolen, yes_.

“But if you ask me, they never had it in the first place. They should be the ones going on trial!” Capone exclaimed heartily. He was absolutely full of himself, and everyone around him was eating it up.

“So, it’s true then? All charges against you have been dropped.” One of the reporters inquired, looking at Capone expectantly.

“With no evidence, the honorable judge Wilkerson had no choice but to drop the case.” Capone declared, his swarthy face settling into a grin. “Justice has been served.”

With that, the surrounding mixture of reporters and observers burst into an outcry of approval, cheering Capone on as he withdrew from the podium and began to make his way down towards the street. He threw a haphazard glance over his shoulder, scanning for Lucy and Flynn before spotting the couple and gesturing for them to follow.

Eager to get this show on the road, Flynn wasted no time in plowing his way through the mass of people, taking Lucy by the wrist as he carved out a path for them.

She distantly wondered if anyone noticed how she was constantly being dragged to and fro by her so-called husband, although, being that it was the 1930’s, she supposed that passed for somewhat normal.

Suddenly, just as Lucy was clearing the last few steps on their way to where Al Capone’s car was waiting at the curb, she spotted two familiar faces among the crowd. Not trusting her eyes, she did a double take as she once again found the two people who she was looking for. The two people who didn’t belong there any more than she did.

 _Wyatt and Rufus._ She thought to herself, her heart palpitating with relief and fear in equal measure. They were standing together discreetly at the edge of the crowd, wearing what she was sure were stolen clothes.  She would be lying if she said she wasn’t happy to see them but was also all too aware of the danger they put themselves in by coming after her.

Out of the two of them, she was most astonished to see Wyatt, since considering the circumstances of their last parting she wasn’t sure she would ever see him again. But it appeared that he had managed to escape whatever black hole the government intended for him to disappear into, and she couldn’t be more grateful.

 _He came back for me_. She thought to herself in wonder, her heart swelling with love for the man who always showed up when she needed him. From shooting her would be kidnapper at the Hindenburg to saving her from the clutches of H.H. Holmes, he hadn’t let her down yet.

Wait…the man she _loved_?

There was no time to properly process the thought, and yet she knew it was true, tracing the lines of his face with her eyes with the little seconds she had before she was whisked away into Capone’s waiting motorcade.

She knew it the moment Wyatt saw her, because his eyes visibly widened in surprise and a similar look of relief washed over his own features. Rufus stood there beside him, a small involuntary grin pulling at his lips as he caught sight of Lucy as well. But their reprieve was short lived as both the men’s gazes locked on Flynn, pulling her along with him in an unyielding hold. She could see that Wyatt was about to spring forward and reach for her, about to do exactly what Flynn wanted him to. Knowing that the moment Wyatt and Rufus revealed themselves all hell would break loose, Lucy quickly made the only decision she could.

Subtly and deliberately as she could manage, Lucy quickly shook her head at Wyatt, imploring him with her eyes to understand that this wasn’t the time or place to attempt any kind of rescue mission.

Despite forcing herself to be practical in this moment, Lucy was overwhelmed by the opportunity passing her by, as she had no idea how Rufus and Wyatt would find her again once they set off for the Lexington. It was all the way across town, and they definitely wouldn’t be able to follow on foot without drawing unnecessary attention. She scrambled for a way to tell them where to find her before it was too late.

And then it hit her. Before they had left the Lexington that morning, she, Flynn, and Capone had sat down to breakfast in his private salon. While the table conversation had been dull at best, it did give her a chance to roam more or less freely around confines the penthouse while Flynn and Capone discussed whatever his compensation was going to be for their generous intervention. Meanwhile, Lucy had found herself exploring Capone’s various odds and ends when she came across a notepad of hotel stationary sprawled out across Capone’s writing desk in the corner of the room. Without thinking she had snatched a piece of the notepaper, folded it, and stuffed it into her dress pocket before Flynn could notice. The small sheet of paper had _The Lexington Hotel_ written on it in broad, scrawling letters. At the time she figured it couldn’t hurt to have a clue to her location on hand, and she couldn’t have been more right.

As inconspicuously as she could, Lucy hesitantly reached down into her dress pocket, drew out the small piece of paper, and dropped it onto the cement, all while keeping her eyes locked with Wyatt’s, who was following her every move.

Reluctant though she could see he was, Lucy briefly relaxed as she watched Wyatt back down, eyeing the discarded paper intently. He seemed to understand the danger of the situation as he swiftly drew Rufus to the side, the pair opting to conceal themselves from Flynn’s view behind a parked car.

Meanwhile, Flynn seemed to be completely oblivious to the entire exchange, far too focused on simply navigating the crowd and reaching the car to notice Lucy’s strange behavior. By the time they finally reached the curb, Al Capone was already comfortably situated in the compartment, beckoning for them to join him. With one last glance over her shoulder at her two teammates, Lucy allowed Flynn to assist her inside, settling into the cushy leather seats as she tried to tamp down her raging nerves.

“So, about that favor.” Capone began as Flynn seated himself beside her and the car rumbled to life, pulling out into the street.

It seemed Flynn had held up his end of the deal, so to speak, and now Capone was ready to deliver. There was no telling what Capone could possibly have promised him, but she had a feeling it was more likely to be a _who_ rather than a _what._ Lucy swallowed her fear, gazing out the window as the cityscape of industrial Chicago passed her by and she wondered who was next on Flynn’s hit list, and if she would be able to stop him.

She could only hope that Wyatt and Rufus would get her message.

 


	5. The Nefarious Negotiation

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> We get the short lived reunion of the time team from Wyatt and Rufus' point of view, and Flynn negotiates with Al Capone to get access to someone in his elite inner circle.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know it's been a million years since I updated, but here's Chapter 5. It's our usual jam, along with some light hearted Wufus friendship banter for the first half which I think is often if not always necessary. I think I'm going to try to get back to my other story, Knowing Yourself, soon since my Garcy heart has been reignited after reading that interview with Goran that dropped on twitter earlier today about the movie. But I'm also still a Lyatt supporter so I'm faithful to this story too haha. Enjoy and as always comment and subscribe!

_Wyatt_

“I just love riding trolleys in the pre-civil rights era.” Rufus said sarcastically. “The back of the bus is always a great time.”

Wyatt gave him a sympathetic look as they dismounted the cable car. “Sorry you have to deal with that.”

“It’s all right.” Rufus sighed, straightening his newsboy cap. “Let’s get going.”

They’d gotten off at Marshall Square, on the corner of West 19th Street and South California Ave and found themselves overwhelmed by the bustle of the afternoon crowd. Wyatt felt enclosed on all sides by the thick cloud cover hanging overhead, the endless masses of people, and the compact buildings boxing them in on either side. After being locked up in a black site he was itching for some open space, and the tight streets of Chicago just weren’t doing it for him. He felt like a rat wandering through a preconstructed maze. It was just a question of whether he’d ever find what he was looking for, or more specifically, who.

The pair still had a dozen or so blocks to walk before they reached the courthouse, and it was already half past one. He figured the trial would probably already be in full swing, so there wasn’t any time to lose. Being a Chicago native himself, Rufus naturally took the lead as they carved a path toward the powder keg of a hearing waiting for them. He seemed to know the city like the back of his hand, no matter what century they found themselves in. Meanwhile Wyatt set a brisk pace, plowing through the throng of people with the subtlety of a linebacker.

“So how did you know today was Capone’s tax evasion trial?” Rufus asked, trying not to look conspicuous as they wove their way through the afternoon lunch rush. Even in 1931, Chicago traffic was something else.

“I didn’t.” Wyatt replied gruffly. “You can thank Google for that one.”

They were unfortunately missing their walking encyclopedia and resident history nerd, so Google would have to do.

“These clothes are itchy.” Rufus whined under his breath, tugging at the uncomfortable material of his brown suit where it was bunched up around his elbows.

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “What did you want me to steal you, a silk suit?”

Rufus didn’t have anything to say to that. He just quietly preferred the gentle feeling of synthetic fibers and 100% cotton clothing that was waiting for him back in the 21stcentury, thank you very much. He could practically hear his favorite hoodie calling his name. Besides, Wyatt always seemed to come out better with these historical get ups anyway. While Rufus had been stuck with a tacky brown tweed suit one size too big, Wyatt had somehow managed to dig up a strapping grey two piece that fit him perfectly. Go figure.

“Strange being back here of all places.” Rufus muttered. “Flynn seems to have a thing for whisking Lucy off to Chicago.”

“Yeah, well at least this time there isn’t a serial killer on the loose.” Wyatt grumbled. “Other than Flynn, of course." 

His stomach did an involuntary flip at the mention of their run in with H.H. Holmes and the sick mind game he had played by locking himself inside the vault with them, pretending to be his own victim. Every time Wyatt thought about it, he couldn’t rap his head around the fact that he’d been staring into the eyes of a murderer all along, and he hadn’t had a clue. Well that, and the fact that the bastard had nearly burned Lucy alive in his human sized furnace. He couldn’t shake the thought that had he come just a few minutes later, his entire world might have gone up in literal flames.

“Just because Holmes is dead and gone doesn’t mean Flynn couldn’t set another trap.” Rufus considered. “We have to be careful.”

Wyatt’s head involuntarily snapped to his right, looking Rufus up and down like he almost didn’t recognize him. The other man was walking with purpose, his posture confident and the lines of his face set in rigid determination. It was like he was seeing Rufus for the first time, really seeing him. He’d always known that Rufus was smart, or rather, an honest to God genius. He did build their damn time machine, after all. But Wyatt often overlooked how much his tech counterpart had grown over their time together. The tactically competent, strategic man standing beside him now was a far cry from the meek, anxious pilot he’d met all those months ago. And he was grateful that Rufus could keep his head in the game, even if all Wyatt could do was think about his missing other half.

“I’m glad we’re on the same team, Rufus.” Wyatt said, clearing his throat awkwardly. He’d never been great at expressing himself. “For what it’s worth, you’re Delta Force material in my book.”

Wyatt didn’t quite know how to frame what he wanted to say, so that was the best he could come up with on the fly. He wanted Rufus to know how much he and Lucy meant to him, how without the two of them Wyatt didn’t have a person left in the world he cared for. In his anger at Rufus and Lucy for keeping secrets about Rittenhouse, he’d once told him that Delta Force wasn’t a person, but a team. Now, he couldn’t imagine trusting Rufus with anything less than his life. It wasn’t a feeling that couldn't go unsaid any longer.

Rufus stopped in his tracks, surprised but not unaffectionate. His mouth quirked up in a slight grin as they came to stand side by side at the street corner, waiting for the traffic to let up as the people milled around them like ants, all coming and going in every direction, totally unaware of the two intrepid time travelers in their midst.

“I don’t know if I’m quite military grade.” Rufus said casually, hands sliding into his pockets. “But coming from you, that means a lot.”

Wyatt smiled fondly in spite of himself as they rounded the corner and was about respond when he saw Rufus’ face contort in confusion.

“Is this supposed to happen?” Rufus asked.

The Chicago Criminal Courthouse stretched out before them, all hard lines and stern grey angles, like a gloomy citadel in the middle of an urban metropolis. A crowd of reporters were gathered on the front steps armed with bulky microphones and flashing cameras, all clustered around a portable podium and the burly man speaking from it, whom Wyatt could only assume was Al Capone. The mobster had a darkness about him, from the suspicious flashing of his black eyes to the grim set of his self-satisfied smirk. He looked positively pleased with himself, and Wyatt supposed it was appropriate, since the douche-bag had just weaseled his way out of a sentencing to federal prison.

“I thought Capone was supposed to be convicted today.”

“I think we’re too late. Flynn must’ve found a way to get him off somehow.” Wyatt replied, watching as the gangster jeered and riled up the crowd. He clearly wasn’t behind bars, where the history books said he should be.

“Well, that’s not troubling at all.” Rufus remarked.  

“Come on, let’s get a closer look.”

Rufus obediently fell in step behind him as Wyatt crossed the street and sidled up to the outskirts of the crowd as casually as possible, keeping a sharp lookout for any hint of high cheekbones and raven hair. The soldier in him doubted that Flynn would risk keeping Lucy out in the open in such a public space, but the other half of his brain couldn’t shake the hope that he might catch a fateful glimpse of her in the press-filled chaos. 

“What can I say? The crooked lawyers for the prosecution somehow lost all the evidence they had on me.” Al Capone’s voice boomed from the podium with the charming twinge of his accent as he made jabs at the district attorneys, making the reporters burst into laughter.

“Wow, history books don’t do this guy justice. What a jerk off.” Rufus griped, shaking his head as Capone continued to prattle on.

“What? You’re not going to call him a ‘grade A douche nozzle’ like Benedict Arnold?” Wyatt teased, earning an eye roll and a puff of laughter from his partner.

“I should write a pocket book, call it, Creative Insults for Historical Figures You Know and Hate.” He joked. “It would be a hit with Lucy, I’m sure.”

Leave it to Rufus to provide comic relief during a rescue mission in the middle of depression-era Chicago, Wyatt thought.

“So, it’s true then? All charges against you have been dropped.” One of the braver reporter’s voices emerged clearly through the buzz of questions, eyes expectant and notepad at the ready.

Capone shrugged his shoulders nonchalantly. “With no evidence, the honorable judge Wilkerson had no choice but to drop the case.” He held his hands up in mock innocence before adding triumphantly. “Justice has been served.”

And just like that it was over. The press began to disperse, and people shifted as Capone and his goons parted the crowd like Moses crossing the Red sea. Wyatt was about to suggest that they hotwire a nearby car and tail Capone when he locked eyes with someone through the throng, his breath nearly catching in his throat at the sight of her.

“She’s here.” He whispered, almost to himself.

“Lucy? Where?” Rufus asked anxiously. Wyatt inclined his head subtly in her direction, not wanting to point and expose themselves.

As ever, Lucy blended in with the historical commonality almost seamlessly, but there wasn’t any decade where she could fail to catch his eye. She was a striking sight in her flowing green dress, all pale creamy skin and rich brown curls. Since Bonnie and Clyde, 1930’s Lucy never failed to do him in every time. But what he was more focused on were her eyes. They were wide with a mix of relief and fear, as she seemed to be trying to communicate a thousand things in just a few stolen glances.

He also couldn’t help but painfully register the look of surprise that passed over her features upon seeing him, as if she doubted he would come for her. As if anything mattered more to him than saving her, than seeing her again.  

 _Of course she thinks that, you idiot._ He scolded himself. _She watched you abandon her for your dead wife before you got arrested and thrown into a black site._ For a brief moment he marveled at the absolute insanity that was their lives, and then decided, however ironically, that it was best not to dwell on the past. All he could do was tell himself that he’d have plenty of time to make up for his laundry list of mistakes later, when they weren’t surrounded by 20thcentury mobsters and time travelling terrorists.  

“Look who’s with her.” Rufus added bitterly, his eyes narrowing.

Briefly dragging his eyes away from Lucy’s desperate gaze, Wyatt saw that it was none other than Flynn himself dragging the smaller woman by the wrist through the crowd and toward a parked car waiting for them at the curb. Capone’s personal car, to be more precise. 

Time seemed to get away from him in that moment, as his senses went into overdrive and he began to panic at the thought that he only had a few fleeting moments to get to her. He could feel his body tensing, muscles preparing to crash through the crowd and lunge toward the historian without a second thought. It wasn’t his most well thought out plan, but he knew he could go toe to toe with Garcia Flynn in a fight, and for Lucy he’d do it ten times over.  

Lucy’s eyes were still on him though, and much to his shock and dismay, just as he was about to charge forward, he watched her shake her head almost imperceptibly. The sharpness of her gaze intensified as she silently willed him not to move.

It was then that Wyatt understood. She wasn’t afraid for herself. She was afraid for _them._ So damn selfless, she was always worrying about everyone else, even when she was the one in danger. But Wyatt could see the desperation that was written all over her face, the helpless panic that seeped through her features as she struggled to find a way to tell them how to find her.

And then a spark lit up her eyes, as an idea seemed to take shape in her mind. Wyatt eagerly tracked her every move as she gingerly reached into her dress pocket removed what looked like a small, folded piece of paper. Without taking her eyes off of his she carefully dropped it onto the ground and inclined her head meaningfully, just as she and Flynn finally reached the street. 

“What is she doing?” Rufus wondered aloud.

“Leaving breadcrumbs.” Wyatt concluded, his heart beaming with pride. “We’ve gotta move.”   

He quickly ushered Rufus away from the crowd, out of Flynn’s line of sight as the pair concealed themselves behind a parked car a few feet away, peering through the windows at the disarray of lawyers, reporters, and observers.

“Woah man, what’s up? Why aren’t we going after Lucy?” Rufus demanded. They watched Flynn escort Lucy into their taxi before clambering in behind her, out of sight.

“I think Lucy’s trying to protect us.” Wyatt explained. “Flynn must be trying to use us against her, and she doesn’t want him to know we’re here.”

Rufus’ face settled into understanding and resignation as he watched Capone’s motorcade pass them by, the windows too tinted to see the people inside. He could only hope that she would stay safe long enough for them to find her.

“For some reason, none of them good, Flynn has already wormed his way in with Capone.” Rufus deduced.

“Well, with all that mob muscle it’s going to be hard to get to Flynn or Capone.” Wyatt said, trying to formulate a plan. 

Rufus groaned in frustration. “This is a first class, grade A, clusterfu-“

“Wait, who is that?” Wyatt interjected, pointing to a man who was coming down the front steps in an irritable hurry. Something about him brushed on Wyatt’s memory, or more specifically a Wikipedia page he had blasted through about the trial before hopping in the lifeboat earlier.

“Do I look like Lucy to you?” Rufus replied.

 “Mr. Ness.” They heard one of the journalists say, laying a hand on the man’s chest to stop him in his tracks. “It seems that Al Capone is the untouchable one. Care to comment?”

The reporter hardly had time to wipe the smirk off his face before Ness reared his hand back and punched him soundly across the jaw, sending the man sprawling across the stairs in a sputtering heap.

“Anymore questions?” Ness asked tightly, pushing through the scandalized observers with a scowl.  

“You wanna talk to _that_ guy?” Rufus asked incredulously. “Do you have a death wish or something?”

Reluctantly, Wyatt shook off any inclination towards the mystery man, deciding to worry about it later. Turning his attention back to the note patiently waiting for them on the sidewalk. 

“Come on, let’s go read our clue before it gets kicked down a storm drain.” 

“Right behind you, Shaggy.” Rufus quipped.

“You know that makes you Scooby, right?”

Rufus bit his tongue on his latest wise crack as they slowly approached the tiny scrap of paper, Wyatt bending down to scoop it off the ground. Rufus noticed a slight tremor in his hands as Wyatt carefully unfolded the note, only to see him frown in disappointment.

“What is it?” Rufus asked tentatively, peering over Wyatt’s shoulder. 

“It’s blank.” Wyatt answered despondently, turning the note over in his hands as he searched for any trace of Lucy’s loopy handwriting. “She must have not had any time to write a message.” 

Rufus stared at the stationary for a few moments, his eyes flicking across the page before realization dawned on his face.

“She didn’t have to leave a message. Look at the letterhead.” Rufus exclaimed, pointing to the top left corner where a name was printed in large elegant black font.

“The Lexington Hotel.” Wyatt read aloud. The name meant nothing to him, but he guessed it might ring a bell with Rufus.

“I know where that is. Or at least, where it was. It doesn’t exist anymore in 2017.” Rufus pinched the bridge of his nose. “Time travel makes my brain hurt” 

“Tell me about it.” Wyatt huffed. “Lead the way, Rufus.”

  

* * *

_Lucy_

Never before had she truly appreciated the conveniences of modern travel, and for once, Flynn looked like he couldn’t agree more. With every bump in the gravelly road or hitch of their sputtering taxi he looked like he was on the verge of being sick, and some hysterical part of her had to control the desperate urge to laugh at the time-travelling terrorist who was brought to his knees by motion sickness.

Lucy nervously crossed her legs and fumbled with her fingers in her lap as she continued to glance out the window, doing her best to look nonchalant as she tried to tamp down her excitement at seeing Wyatt and Rufus, along with her anxiety as she eagerly waited for Capone to continue his negotiation with Flynn. There was a considerable space between alleged husband and wife on their side of their compartment, but Al Capone didn’t seem to notice or care, too consumed in trying to get a read on Flynn himself.

“So, Mr. Flynn, what is it exactly that you want with him?” Capone inquired, folding his hands and leaning back into his seat.

 _Him, who?_ Lucy hoped her curiosity didn’t show on her face.

“He has important information I need access to.” Flynn answered evasively, but Capone was still skeptical.

“Somehow I have a feeling there’s more to it than that.”

“Oh, there is.” Flynn replied honestly, but he didn’t care to elaborate. His eyes drifted to Lucy, as if sharing in a private joke.

Capone didn’t appreciate being left out of their little secret though, as his eyes narrowed at both of them distrustfully.

“He’s the mayor of Chicago. And it’s pretty clear to me that you two aren’t from around here.” He said, his eyes flicking to Lucy briefly. “So what business could you possibly have with William Thompson?”

The name bloomed like a flower in Lucy’s mind, as she remembered reading about him for a dissertation she’d done on Midwestern American industrial cities. He was the last Republican mayor that Chicago would ever have, at least, up until 2017. And he was also notorious for being one of the most unethical mayors in history, due to his extremely open political and financial alliance with the very crime boss sitting across from her.

“It’s not any business that you’d know anything about.” Flynn replied curtly. “I just need a few minutes alone with him, is all.” He really was holding all of his cards very close to his chest, Lucy thought. And she knew that wasn’t going to get him anywhere with Capone.

“Listen, Big Bill is one of my best guys. I helped put him into office a couple a’ years ago and he’s been great for keeping the cops off our back. He’s also one of the Outfit’s best clients. That old sucker buys more hooch than he knows what to do with.” Capone chuckled.

But then his laughter suddenly died on his lips and his eyes hardened as he added coldly, “So why the hell would I sell him out to a stranger like you?”

Lucy couldn’t take it anymore. Honestly, people said women were the ones who never said what they meant but these two men were dancing around their conversation like they were waltzing at winter formal and couldn’t decide which one of them was supposed to lead.

“Look, we just need to ask him a few questions about an organization he might be a part of, something called Rittenhouse.” Lucy explained impatiently, speaking for the first time. Their negotiation was going in passive aggressive circles, and it was getting painful to listen to. She wasn’t doing it so much to help Flynn as much as it was to put her out of her own misery. Capone cut his eyes to her, as did Flynn, the latter with a fair amount of surprise coloring his face.

“Never heard of ‘em.” Capone said suspiciously.

“Nobody has.” She returned. “It’s not something that’s talked about openly. Which is why we need a private audience with Mr. Thompson. He won’t admit to any association in public.” 

Throughout her entire time travelling career she had become pretty adept at thinking quick on her feet, but every now and then she was still taken aback by her own ability to lie through her teeth. She had to admit, however much she disagreed with Flynn’s methods, she was at least the slightest bit curious about the origins of Rittenhouse, and wouldn’t mind getting to hear what the corrupt Mayor Thompson might have to say.

“And how can I guarantee that after you interrogate him, I won’t find his body washed up on the shores of Lake Michigan?”

“You can’t.” Flynn replied simply, and Lucy involuntarily shuddered at his bluntness. Though, in a rare show of tenderness which was more shocking than comforting, Flynn leaned over in her direction and securely laced his fingers with her own, drawing her slightly closer to him. 

Capone turned his attention to Lucy for a moment, his gaze almost seeming to ask, _is he always this dramatic?_ To which she could only shrug in reply, still adjusting to the sensation of Flynn’s hand rapped around her own and the proximity of their bodies. She couldn’t tell if he was doing it to actually help her relax, to make their marriage seem more convincing, or for some other unknown reason, but she was entirely unprepared no matter what the circumstance. Meanwhile, Flynn seemed entirely at ease, the blasted man.

For once, Capone seemed to finally crack under the intensity of Flynn’s unnatural composure, a king set off balance in his own kingdom, and he didn’t like it one bit. He blustered, “I don’t care what help you gave me before. Nothing is worth that.”

Flynn smiled slightly, as if Capone’s outright refusal were somehow a relief, like a cue he’d been waiting to hear. He arched an eyebrow before asking, “Not even the location of Eliot Ness’ hideout?”

And now, Lucy realized, Flynn taking hold of her hand made perfect sense, because the moment she heard his proposal she nearly vaulted out of her seat. Only Flynn’s iron grip on her fingers kept her in place as she turned to him, unable to conceal her own shock and panic.

“Is that really necessary-” She began nervously but was cut off by Capone’s own incredulous inquiry. 

 _"You_ know where Eliot Ness is holed up? How?” The gangster demanded, looking positively incensed at the thought that a foreigner knew more about the ins and outs of the Chicago underworld than he did himself.

“I have my sources. You’re not the only one with eyes and ears all over Chicago.” Flynn replied vaguely.

Lucy nearly rolled her eyes. _Yeah, or access to a Wikipedia page._

“Eliot Ness has been hot on my trail for years now. The bastard moved his entire family outta state and went into hiding a couple months ago. Not one of my guys has been able to sniff him out, and you’re telling me you know where he is?”

“I have his address right here, yes.” Flynn said smoothly as he used his free hand to pluck a small envelope from his inner coat pocket. “It’s all yours, so long as you get me a few minutes alone with our friend, the Mayor.”

Lucy was itching to say something. Or, more specifically, to grab that envelope from Flynn and chuck it out the window before Capone got the chance to see it. Eliot Ness wasn’t supposed to die for another twenty-six years. And more importantly, he was the only one who could put Capone in prison where he belonged. Lucy couldn’t just sit by and watch Flynn sentence him to death by Italian Mob. But presently Flynn was glaring at her in a way that told her she’d sorely regret it if she even thought about opening her mouth, and he gave her fingers a not too gentle warning squeeze just in case she was getting any ideas about intervening.

On the other side of the compartment the mobster eyed the envelope hungrily, like a dog having a bone waved teasingly right in front of its nose. Capone lifted his gaze to meet Flynn’s who was watching him expectantly, before his face split into an unsettling, uneven grin.

It was amazing how a simple bribe could make someone turn the tables on a supposedly long-lived alliance so quickly, as suddenly Big Bill didn’t matter so much compared to the prospect of finally putting Eliot Ness in the ground. But, she had to remind herself, this was the infamous, back-stabbing, cold-blooded Al Capone they were talking about. Not exactly star moral material. She fought the impulse to throw open the car door and tuck and roll as Flynn and Capone each shook hands over their contract made in blood.

Capone looked absolutely satisfied as he declared. “Mr. Flynn, you have yourself a deal.” 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know the Lucy portion was a little short this time but I wanted to give some air time to our two favorite idiots scrambling through history without her. Hope you liked it!


	6. The Short-Lived Reunion

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Flynn and Lucy argue about the best way to take out Rittenhouse, before Lucy is surprised with an unexpected visitor.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wow it's been a long time since my last update, because I'm trash and have no time management skills. Now that school is over (temporarily anyway), my goal is to finish this story before I go back for spring semester, so look out for more updates. You may notice that I drew some dialogue from the end of 1x16 for the Lucy and Wyatt scene, and I think you'll see the parallels once you get to it. Also, who else is excited for the movie??? I can't wait. With that said, enjoy, comment, kudos, and subscribe if you please!

_Lucy_

“I can’t believe you.” Lucy rounded on him as soon as the door to their room clicked shut behind her, positioning herself a few paces away from him by the window so as not to throttle him on the spot. She found that Flynn had escorted her into one of Capone’s private offices at the Lexington, probably already preparing for the verbal lashing he was about to receive from the irate historian. Well, private office may have been a strong word. It was more of a glorified storage room, chalk full of discarded furniture, outdated documents, and a stack of mysterious boxes she figured were full of either hooch or ammunition. Not that she really cared to find out either way, just grateful that she had a secluded place to give Flynn a piece of her mind. Capone, being the spurious gentleman he was, had been kind enough to offer them the use of his penthouse before departing to call on the unknowing Mayor Thompson. Just another name to add to Flynn’s growing Rittenhouse hit list, and a name bought with Eliot Ness’ blood no less.

“He wants Ness and I need leverage. It’s simple.” Flynn explained, shrugging off his coat and taking a seat at the writing desk. “Every deal requires collateral, put it that way.”

“More like collateral damage.” She seethed, crossing her arms and staring him down across the room, the fading sunlight permeating the space with a faint yellow glow. His face was cast in half shadow, and Lucy watched as his gaze briefly flickered from the indifferent mask she knew so well, briefly revealing a hint of raw pain, a glimpse of hurt splayed across his face, before settling into carefully controlled apathy once again.

“Lucy, this is _war._ ” He said seriously, exasperation dissolving into bitter frustration. “Not everyone can be spared. Not everyone can be saved. We’ve been over this.”

“They wouldn’t have to be saved if you didn’t insist on killing them in the first place!”

“Well, I haven’t killed anyone yet.” He drawled, eyes flashing with the promise of terrible things.

She scoffed, half in disgust and half to hide her own abject fear. “You practically handed him Eliot Ness on a silver platter. He’s as good as dead, and for what? Some shoddy information on a Rittenhouse meeting?”

“That information could bring us closer to bringing them down than ever before.” He argued angrily. “And I’m just supposed to turn that down?”

“Closer, but at what _cost?”_ Lucy demanded. “And who’s to say that it will ever really work? That you aren’t just tearing history apart with no end in sight? Meanwhile, Rittenhouse survives every time and all you end up doing is helping Nazi’s and mobsters along the way.”

She could tell that jab stung a little, but didn’t have the heart to feel bad as he furiously retorted, “You think I enjoy this? You think I take pleasure in partnering up with scum like Capone?”

“Clearly you’re willing to stoop so low whether you like it or not.” She countered.

“I do what is necessary. I make the difficult choices that no one else can. Something I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” He growled, his voice rough as he sliced the air with his disdain. Yet, although his words were meant to wound her, she couldn’t help but notice the way he involuntarily hung his head, the way his eye lids fluttered closed as if the shame of his actions were a near physical weight that crashed down on him in that very moment.

“But why does it have to be _this_ way? Why do _we_ have to make those decisions?” She asked desperately, taking a step closer to him. He looked up at her helplessly, almost as if to say, _I don’t know why any more than you do._

“Because we are the only ones who can stop them.” He said gruffly, punctuating each word with an unforgiving sharpness. “If there was another way out of this, don’t you think I would have found it already? I make the sacrifices I have to make to do what is right.”

“But nobody should have to sacrifice the entire world for what is right!” She cried. “You’re taking the fabric of history into your own hands and risking tearing apart reality as we know it. None of this is right! None of this is supposed to happen!” Her chest was heaving, her arms wrapped tightly around her own waist almost in an effort to keep herself from falling apart at the seams. Her voice going shrill as she struggled to keep her emotions in check in the face of the man who was steadily destroying her world piece by piece.

Startled by her loss of composure, Flynn’s eyes bored into Lucy’s before he rose from his chair and began slowly moving towards her. Though apprehensive, she didn’t shrink away as he came to stand before her, forcing herself to return his fathomless gaze defiantly. If she didn’t know any better, she could have sworn she saw the curl of sympathy tugging at his lips. His eyes were the softest she’d ever seen them, green pupils dilated wide with a pity she didn’t know he had the capacity for.

His voice was incredibly gentle. “I know this is hard for you.” He began, searching for the best words to convey the impossible. “And that asking for your help forces you to go against everything you know. But there’s no way to finish this without you.”

At that, she finally lowered her eyes, sighing in resignation that they’d reached the same impasse yet again. But he pushed forward, his voice reaching her where his eyes could not.

“Have you ever once stopped to ask yourself what the world would be like if Rittenhouse were wiped from the map once and for all? If you would come back to a better world altogether than the one you knew before?”

Drawing a deep breath, she found herself hesitating. _Had_ she ever really considered whether the sacrifices to the timeline could be worth it? What on Earth would they come back to? Some shiny, advanced, equality-driven paradise or a hellish, backwards, apocalyptic shadow of their former reality? It was impossible to say.

Taking advantage of her uncertainty, he pressed on. “What makes you so attached to the idea of the way things are supposed to be? You’re a historian, but you’ve witnessed firsthand that nothing in our timeline is set in stone. Things can change, events can be altered, the past can be rewritten.” He urged, the inspired sparkle in his eye drawing her back to the flames of the Hindenburg, and all the subsequent changes that followed. “After all you’ve seen, you should know by now that there is no such thing as fate.”

She hated the idea of admitting that Flynn was right, and that she only preserved the timeline because she couldn’t cope with the idea of an unfamiliar reality, for better or worse. It made her feel weak, like she was protecting history for the wrong reasons. For the abstract idea, rather than the people it. But the spark of the Hindenburg ignited a fire in her mind, a fire which blazed with a name she would never allow herself to forget even if everyone else on the face of the planet inevitably had.

“Just because things can be changed doesn’t mean they should be. Who are we to decide what should or shouldn’t happen? And what if the consequences of destroying Rittenhouse outweigh the gains? One change to the timeline took Amy away from me and turned my entire life upside down.” She said, her voice dropping to a murmur as she longed for the locket that she knew was tucked away in Flynn’s coat pocket.

His face was pinched with thinly veiled guilt, as if he knew exactly what she was thinking about. But that didn’t stop him from continuing on his oral crusade to sway her.

“And what if destroying Rittenhouse could bring her back to you?” He asked her tentatively, his voice laced with all the hope she knew he reserved for the desire to save his own wife and daughter. She couldn’t honestly say she’d never considered the idea, that maybe if she just gave in and let Flynn have his way, Amy might be waiting on her doorstep the next time she returned home. It sounded too good to be true, and she realized it probably was.

“That’s a big if.” She replied in monotone, closing herself off to him. “Besides, you aren’t doing this in the hopes of reshaping some future utopia or saving my sister. You’re doing this to save your own family.” There was no harshness or judgement in her tone, only the matter-of-fact assertiveness which she’d learned to cultivate in his presence.

“To me, a future with them in it would already be a better world to come back to.” He admitted heavily. He drew a shaky breath before craning his neck down to her level, finding her downcast eyes before quietly adding, “But that doesn’t mean I don’t care about saving everyone else Rittenhouse has hurt.”

He looked so honest, so sincere, it was hard to reconcile this Flynn with the reckless, callous murderer she had come to see him as every time they jumped. Although she could never agree with the idea of any killing spree, she could begrudgingly understand the logic behind his plan, and the selflessness involved in destroying his own morality and goodness for the benefit of others. For the greater good, as he would put it. He was making the ultimate sacrifice, and it was one that she realized she could not condemn nor condone. Because despite everything he had done, he was still undeniably and painfully human, even if there were moments he pretended not to be.

Lucy considered him thoughtfully, and then said softly, “If my journal told you to take down Rittenhouse, maybe that means there’s a way to do it without all of this. A way to make things right without having to take so much. And without having to lose so much too.”

He looked at her knowingly, completely aware of what she was referring to as he bared himself to her completely, daring to trust her as a glimmer of hope stirred inside him. 

“ _How?”_ He asked plaintively, wanting so badly to believe in the possibility of redemption. But he could see her face fall the moment his lips formed around the word, her lashes lowering to conceal the lost look in her eyes.

“You don’t know, because there is no other way.” His voice, like her own, held no judgement or malice. Just stating the facts. The miserable, unforgiving facts.

She finally looked up into his face, biting her lip, hating that he always seemed to come out right in these conversations time and time again. “Just because I don’t know yet doesn’t mean I couldn’t figure it out eventually.”

“We don’t have time for ‘eventually’.” He replied, sounding resigned as he finally turned away from her and grabbed his coat. Lucy could almost feel the tension in the room dissipating as he put some distance between them.

Flynn quickly slipped the jacket over his shoulders before replacing his hat on his head as well. By now the sun had nearly set and outside dusk was settling over the busy Chicago streets, leaving them in a muted gloom that much reflected the weariness of the two-time travelers. Opposite sides of the cold room feeling like the opposing sides of a war that had yet to be bridged, if it ever could be.

“When you come up with a better plan, a real plan, let me know.” He tossed over his shoulder as he made his way to the door, turning the dial on the gas lamps on his way out to chase away the darkness of the study.

“Where are you going?” She asked apprehensively.

“To have a chat with the mayor.” He answered dryly, stopping to take one last look at her. “It’ll be messy, and I don’t want you to have to see it. Stay here and stay out of trouble.”

His voice was bored as he gave her the instructions, but his eyes were hard and unyielding, silently banishing any delusions she might have about escaping or interfering.

She rolled her eyes to disguise her unease. “Shouldn’t be a problem, unless you’re worried that I’m going to meddle with Capone’s tax files while you’re away.” She said sarcastically, gesturing to the disorganized stacks and shelves of ledgers and documents littering the dim office.

Flynn threw her a light tipped sardonic smile. “Been there, done that.” He smirked, and with that he swept out of the room and slammed the door behind him. Lucy heard Flynn securely lock her inside before his footsteps drifted down the hall, leaving her alone.

Her body seemed to instantly decompress the moment he left the room, like a balloon deflating after nearly reaching its air capacity. Something about being around him set her off kilter, forced her to challenge everything she had ever taken for granted and ask questions she never dreamed would cross her mind. Being locked away from all the action suddenly seemed like a blessing, and she ironically found herself silently thanking Garcia Flynn for having the presence of mind to keep that part of himself, the part that was willing to interrogate and murder without pause, out of her purview.

An hour passed, and she thought that if Flynn or Rittenhouse didn’t get to her first, boredom might be the honest to God end to Lucy Preston. She tried leafing through some of Capone’s documents, setting herself on a fruitless search for engaging reading material before even she was forced to admit that financial documents and records, however related to illegal contraband they may be, were still just dull, uninteresting archives of facts and figures. Historian or not, she couldn’t care less about Capone’s shady transaction history.

However, one ledger in particular did happen to catch her eye.

She suppressed a small gasp, involuntarily clapping a hand over her mouth as her gaze landed on a large, elongated ledger with faded, dark-colored leather binding. It was splayed open on the writing desk, hiding in plain sight, and she almost couldn’t believe she hadn’t noticed it before. 

 _They left the tax evasion evidence in **here**? _ She thought in disbelief, approaching the ledger hesitantly, almost as if it might come to life and snap at her as she traced her fingers across its worn pages.

She belatedly wondered if Flynn himself had noticed the presence of the very ledger he had delivered before locking her inside. Although she realized that whether he had or hadn’t it probably wouldn’t matter, because what was she to do? Unless she could manage to pick a lock (and Wyatt had already correctly assessed that she couldn’t back in the 1972 Watergate fiasco), or somehow scale the seven floors of the building waiting below her window, there wasn’t much chance of her passing the evidence on to anyone who would listen.   

But nevertheless, she persisted. As Lucy Preston always does.

Plucking one of the pins from her carefully curled hair, Lucy crouched before the broad, intimidating looking door before starting to work on one of the many locks. She hadn’t realized it when he left, but Flynn had apparently been very strategic about picking this particular room to stow her away in. It had no less than three locks on the door, and he had been sure to lock every single one of them. Leave it to Flynn to be so annoyingly thorough about everything. She figured with so many incriminating documents and contraband lying around it made sense that there should be some higher security, but really why couldn’t she just get one measly lock to turn? All she could think about as she struggled with the useless pin was that they made this look so much easier in the movies.  

And that’s when she heard his voice. 

“Lucy?” A faint voice called from down the hall. Her heart nearly leapt from her chest on the spot.

“Wyatt?” She whispered disbelievingly. She heard him call her name once again, closer this time. Now satisfied that she wasn’t simply hearing things she threw herself against the door and shouted, “Wyatt! Wyatt, I’m in here!”

She heard the pounding of footsteps draw closer, and then his voice was on the other side of the door in an instant. “Lucy?” His voice was desperate, hopeful, and oh so familiar. “Lucy, is that you?”

 “Yes, yes I’m in here.” She cried breathlessly, relief flooding through her. “How did you get here?”

“Rufus may or may not have had to create a distraction in the lobby so I could slip past Capone’s security and catch a ride in the elevator. Hopefully he’ll be waiting for us in the alley safe and sound.” He sounded light hearted, practically ecstatic at the thought that the last thing standing between them was a single door, and he was itching to get to the other side. The sheer sound of him moved her, finding herself caught up in the mental image of his tender blue eyes and the lopsided grin that she knew so well. The sudden need to be near him overwhelmed her in a way it never had before. 

His voice sounded through the door again, softer this time. “We got your message, Luce. There’s nothing that could stop us of from finding you.”

She couldn’t help but smile in sheer joy, tears brimming in her eyes and threatening to spill out. “Well, it wasn’t much of a message.” She laughed shakily, wiping her eyes. “But I knew you and Rufus would be able to figure it out.”

She had faith in them. She would never stop counting on her boys, no matter what Flynn said about her so-called destiny. 

“Where’s Flynn?” He asked, voice dropping to a dangerous rumble just at the mention of the time-travelling terrorist.

“He’s not here. He left to go interrogate the mayor of Chicago about some Rittenhouse meeting.” She explained hurriedly.

Wyatt took a moment to digest that information, seeming to think it best to go over the details later. “What about Flynn’s guys? Any of them hanging around that I need to worry about?”

“No.” Lucy replied. “He only brought one back on this trip, and I haven’t seen him since this morning. Flynn must have sent him-”

 Lucy stopped cold, horrified. Unable to form words as she finally realized where Karl had been all this time. How could she have been so stupid? How could she have forgotten?

“Lucy?” Wyatt prompted, concerned. “Lucy, are you okay?”

She took a moment to collect herself, drawing a deep breath as she prepared to give Wyatt instructions that she knew he was going to hate, and that was an understatement.

 A million different ways to have this conversation passed through her mind, but she eventually settled on, “Do you know who Eliot Ness is?”

Startled, Wyatt stuttered on the other side of the door, “Uh, yeah I think so. I think we saw him leaving the trail this morning after you drove away. Why? What makes him so important?”

“Eliot Ness is a prohibition agent and lead investigator on the case that the state department is building against Al Capone. He’s basically the one who ensures that Capone goes to prison. They call him the Untouchable one, and he goes on to-”

“Okay, okay Professor I think I get the idea.” Wyatt cut in, and Lucy was glad he couldn’t see her blushing. “Look Lucy we don’t have a lot of time, I’ve got to get you out of here.”

Bashfulness forgotten, Lucy steeled herself and closed her eyes. “But that’s just it Wyatt, you have to leave me.”

“What?” He exclaimed incredulously. “Lucy no! No way!”

She didn’t know whether to find his reluctance endearing or aggravating, with everything that was on the line. “As we speak Flynn’s goon is on his way to Ness’ hideout. Flynn used Ness’ location as a bargaining chip to get what he wanted, and now Ness is in danger. You and Rufus have to save him.” She implored.

“I can get you out of here and save Ness.” He argued “Just give me a second to pick these locks. I’ll shoot them off if I have to." 

“Wyatt, there’s no time.” She protested. “Who knows how long it will take you to unlock this thing, and one of Capone’s guards could round the corner at any second if you decide to pump bullets into the door without a silencer.”

“You don’t know that I don’t have a silencer.” He argued, she could hear him starting to work on one of the locks anyway. Now he was just being stubborn.

 “You probably just escaped from some government black site and hopped in what I can only assume was a recently stolen lifeboat, so I doubt you have your nifty government provided gun accessories.” She retorted, and she heard him briefly stop fiddling with the lock.

“Sometimes you’re too smart for your own good.” He grumbled before resuming his work.

Lucy was nearly going to tear her hair out. God damn this man for being so annoyingly loyal. She realized he was probably over compensating for turning his back on them in the first place, what with the whole unadvised expedition to the 1980’s, but now was really not the time to make it up to her.

She wished there was something to do to make his work go faster, or something to make him leave. The door was easily six inches thick if not more, sturdily reinforced, and the locks were clearly nothing to scoff at. The only opening she could see was the extremely gap underneath the door, where soft light from the hallway penetrated into her prison. Was there anything she could give him that would help him find Ness? Or to be more specific, anything that could be slid under a closed door? Luckily for them she had visited Chicago before, and had actually toured the very apartment that Ness had stayed in, nerdy historical tourist attractions abound. So, consequently she still had a rough idea of where he was hiding. Now all she had to do was point Wyatt in the right direction, if he could just muster the strength to leave.

Lucy scrambled around the room, anxiously trying to find a way to get him to see reason. She could distantly hear the voices of Capone’s gang somewhere in the recesses of the penthouse, aloof but still far too close for comfort. If one of them happened to find Wyatt snooping around, it would be curtains for all of them.

Suddenly her eyes landed on the notorious tax ledger lying open on the writing desk, and she knew what she had to do. Suppressing her own despair at the idea of tearing paper out of a book, she forced herself to wrap her fingers around what seemed like the most informational pages of the ledger before hastily ripping them from their bindings in one swift motion. Grabbing one of the discarded fountain pens lying on the desk, she quickly scribbled down what she could remember of Ness’ address, hoping it was enough for Wyatt and Rufus to go on. Decision made, she wasted no time in hurrying over and slipping the pages underneath the small gap in the door frame.

“What’s this?” His voice sounded from the other side of the barrier. “Tax records? Wait, are these-”

“Yes.” Lucy answered. “And you have to take them to Eliot Ness, his address is on the back. You have to save him and give him what he needs to indict Capone.”

Silence on the other side of the door, and then, “But, I can’t.” Wyatt’s voice cracked, and Lucy’s heart nearly shattered right then and there. “Lucy, I can’t leave you. Please don’t ask me to.”

All she wanted to do was see his face, loop her arms around his neck and never let go. She almost couldn’t handle the raw pain in his voice, the thought that leaving her was making him crumble. All she could do was tell herself there would be time for that later. When and if they managed to find their way back to each other, then they could fall apart and put each other back together as much as they liked.

“History comes first. The mission comes first, Wyatt. You know that.” She said resolutely, her voice quivering slightly. “I need you to do this. If not for history, then for me.” 

A beat, then she finally heard him reach down and scoop the stack of pages off the floor, slowly resigning himself to what he knew had to be done. And then came the confession that said everything he couldn’t yet really say. “I already lost you once, I can’t lose you again.” 

Lucy pressed herself flat against the door, her cheek resting against the cold, solid wood, wishing she could be pressed up against the man on the other side. She relished in the words that were said just as much as those left unsaid, letting the truth wash over her as she realized how much she really meant to him, and in turn how much he meant to her. 

“You won’t.” She promised, her voice a fierce whisper. “You’ve trusted me this long. I just need you to do it for a little longer, okay?”

“What if he hurts you?” He shot back. 

“He won’t.” She assured him, and she was shocked to find she actually believed it. “If he was going to, he would have by now, believe me. I’ll be okay.” 

It wasn’t enough, but Lucy suspected no reason would ever be enough for him to justify leaving her behind.

“I’ll come back for you.” He promised, his voice raspy with the effort of forcing himself to do what went against every fiber of his being. 

Lucy’s small hand curled against the door as she longed to intertwine her fingers with his and give him a reassuring squeeze. But as it was all she could do was comfort him with her voice. “I know you will.” She replied tenderly. “Now, go get Rufus and do what we do best.”

Despite how much it broke him to leave her there, she could still practically hear if not see the quirk of a smile in his voice. “Yes, ma’am.”


	7. The Double Rescue

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Wyatt and Rufus follow Lucy's instructions, hoping to reach Eliot Ness before it's too late. Meanwhile, Rufus gives Wyatt a characteristic awkward love pep talk, and Wyatt saves more lives than he was bargaining for.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hello all. I've been struggling to find my muse since the movie, but something must've changed yesterday because I found myself tearing through this story like paper. Hope you enjoy, and there's more to come. See end chapter notes for some insights to references, as well as a more fleshed out explanation of where I am going with this...
> 
> Also: Warning of era-typical racist themes.

_Wyatt_

_I already lost you once, I can’t lose you again._

The admission had been both a pain and a relief. He wanted her to know. Needed her to know how much losing her would tear him apart, even as she steadily convinced him to leave her. Because damn him if Lucy Preston wasn’t the most persuasive person he’d ever met, despite asking him to do the unthinkable.

The folded pages of the tax ledger were a solid weight in his inner breast pocket as he stealthily maneuvered his way through the penthouse, doing his best to circumvent every one of Capone’s gang members without making a sound. Although it wasn’t too hard, considering it seemed they’d all recently taken a generous dip into the Outfit’s alcohol inventory, and were accordingly drunk beyond the bounds of self-awareness. But he also knew that intoxicated could quickly escalate to trigger happy and didn’t want to find himself face to face with any of them, should a shoot-out ensue. Lucy had given him a job to do, and he wasn’t going to get anywhere near Eliot Ness with mobsters and machine guns in his wake.  

Before long he was down the elevator shaft and slipping out the front doors of the Lexington Hotel, where a rather battered Rufus was waiting for him, sitting on the front steps.

“What happened to you?” Wyatt asked, taking stock of Rufus’ black eye and the bleeding cut tracing his cheek bone.

Rufus grimaced as he attempted to wipe the blood from his face. “When I tried to use the whites only bathroom the security guards told me off. Some…choice words were exchanged, punches were thrown, and here we are.”

“You confronting racist bigots in the past will never not be badass.” Wyatt chuckled, offering his friend a hand as he helped him to his feet.

 “You said to create a distraction.” Rufus shrugged, a wry grin pulling at his lips. Then he seemed to remember himself before adding, “So what happened? Did you see Lucy?”

“I couldn’t see her, but we talked.” Wyatt explained, leading Rufus down to the street as he pulled the papers from inside his coat. The pair tucked themselves into a small alcove near the mouth of a darkened alley, eyes peeled for Capone or Flynn.

 “What do you mean?”

“Flynn’s got her locked up tight and I couldn’t get to her. But she gave me this.” Wyatt unfolded the documents Lucy had given him. Among the meaningless monetary figures, he could see the loopy scrawl of her handwriting in the corner where she had written an estimate of Eliot Ness’ address. “It’s the tax evidence that Flynn stole from Capone.”

Rufus’ eyes widened as Wyatt passed the pages over to him, waiting patiently as the other man flipped through them. “And what are we supposed to do with it?” Rufus asked hesitantly. 

“She said we have to deliver it to some prohibition agent, Eliot Ness. He’s the guy we saw at the court house earlier today.”

Rufus stared at him blankly before recognition sparked in his anxious eyes. “You mean the one who decked that reporter?”

The sickening crack of the journalist’s nose echoed in Wyatt’s mind. “That’s him.”

“Great. We get to go from homicidal terrorist to violent 1930’s cop. Can’t wait.”

“Anything is better than Flynn as far as I’m concerned.” Wyatt retorted shortly. Rufus hummed in agreement, crossing his arms as he turned back toward the hotel and glanced up toward, eyes scanning the windows of the upper floors. Wyatt knew who he was looking for.

“So, what? We’re just gonna leave her there? With _him_?” Rufus asked quietly, raising his eyebrows. The thought of abandoning Lucy to Flynn’s machinations just as hard to stomach for him as it was for Wyatt. 

“You think I want to?” Wyatt snapped before taking a breath, his eyes downcast. “She made me leave.”

Rufus’ mouth formed into a small ‘oh’ as resigned understanding settled his features. He looked just as conflicted as Wyatt did, admiring Lucy’s bravery while being utterly frustrated by her stubborn lack of self-preservation.

“Of course she did.” Rufus frowned, releasing a puff of laughter despite himself. “She’s always putting everyone else first, even when she shouldn’t.”

“Tell me about it.” Wyatt muttered. “Come on, let’s hitch a ride.”

They made their way a few blocks down, scanning the streets for an unattended car until they came to a busy street where no one would notice who was climbing into what. With as much nonchalance as they could muster, they carefully slipped into a helpfully unlocked Ford model Koln, which looked like the Model-T’s slightly updated cousin. Rufus took the driver’s seat and hot-wired the car as inconspicuously and quickly as possible, and before long they were pulling out onto the main road.

“I wonder what Flynn’s doing messing around with mobster’s in the 1930’s.” Rufus thought aloud as Wyatt read the address and directed them.

“I mean political corruption and social intimidation seems right up Rittenhouse’s alley, but why now? And why Al Capone?”

“I don’t know.” Rufus made a hard turn and the tires screeched; he seemed to remember he was driving a hunk of nuts and bolts that didn’t really encompass four-wheel drive and scowled. “Now if only Flynn could lay off his antics, we might be able to get somewhere with Rittenhouse ourselves.”

“All things considered I think we have it pretty good” Wyatt said lightly, almost grinning. “We found Lucy, didn’t we?”

Rufus looked at him sidelong. “Yeah but I still have a mother and a brother who think I’ve become a fugitive of the U.S. government and a girlfriend whose being held hostage by Rittenhouse.” He waited a beat, before adding in a very measured tone. “You’ve spent the last two days worried sick about the woman you love, I think you’d understand.” 

“What?” Wyatt asked, completely non-plussed. So much so that Rufus has physically restrain himself from rolling his eyes.

“Lucy!” Rufus exclaimed.

“No.” Wyatt said, failing to sound at all convincing.

“You idiot, you’re in love with Lucy. Just admit it.” 

Wyatt looked like he was about to do just about anything but that.

“Fine. Don’t admit it. I don’t care. Can you just admit that sometimes saving the world sucks? Can you give me that, please?"

The soldier considered, leaning his head left to right before shrugging. “I’ll admit the road sucks.”

Rufus decided to take what he could get and kept driving. He realized it was probably a bit soon to be mentioning love after the whole 1980’s Jessica debacle, but it was almost painful to watch the two of his teammates dance around each other any longer. Out of all the roles he’d ever expected to play on this team, relationship counselor was certainly not one of them. And yet here he was.

It wasn’t long before they pulled up to a seedy, low grade hotel in central Chicago. There were a few thinly disguised brothels, speak-easies, and gambling houses along the boulevard dispersed by a sprinkling of identically grimy and run-down apartments like the one in front of them. It looked like the last neighborhood you’d find a law enforcement officer living in, but Wyatt supposed that was probably the best place to stake out a mobster. Hiding in plain sight.

Wyatt stepped out onto the curb, followed by Rufus after he killed the engine and hopped out of the driver’s side.

“So, how do we know which room is his? It’s not like we can just walk in and drop his name. They might think we’re part of Capone’s Outfit.” Wyatt considered.

“I don’t know, maybe we could go door to door and-”

“Door to door? What are we Rufus, girl scouts?” 

“Well do _you_ have a better idea? Because-“

“’Scuse me,” A gruff voice said behind them. “Can I help you gentleman?”

Wyatt took a deep labored breath thinking, _great, because some self-righteous street thug is just what we need_. But when he turned around, he found himself face to face with none other than Eliot Ness.

“Mr. Ness?” Wyatt tried, gaging the other man’s reaction. The prohibition agent looked surprised, but not afraid or intimidated by the fact that they knew who he was. Wyatt had to give him points for putting up a good front, because for all Ness knew they could be the very goons that Capone sent to pop a cap in his crown.

“Who’s asking?” Ness asked suspiciously, his sharp eyes flicking between Wyatt and Rufus with open scrutiny. Shit, Wyatt hadn’t even thought of a cover story or an alias. Lucy was always the one who started the fake name game and came up with their backstory, but he had to come up with something-

“I’m Agent Morrison and this is Agent Murdock. We’re detectives outsourced by the police department to keep an eye on the Outfit’s movements.” Rufus answered semi-confidently, giving Wyatt a ‘come on, back me up here’ sort of look.

In swiftly going from utter panic to poorly veiled surprise, Wyatt had to choke back a laugh. _You picked aliases from the A-Team? Seriously, Rufus?_  

“Oh, is that so?” Ness eyed Rufus skeptically as he looked him up and down. “Didn’t know Chicago PD was hiring Negroes.”

Rufus had to bite his tongue before letting loose a retort that would probably get them either thrown in jail or in a fist fight with the legendary ‘untouchable one’, neither of which places he particularly wanted to be. The irony of the whole ‘I’m trying to save your life and your flinging racial slurs at me’ did not escape him, just left a sour taste in his mouth as he clamped it shut.

“They don’t. We’re private investigators, not police officers.” Wyatt clarified, shooting Rufus an apologetic glance. Ness hardly looked convinced, and Wyatt couldn’t blame him. No papers, no badges or identification. They could be wholeheartedly lying, and to be perfectly honest, they were. Although not for the reasons Ness would have suspected.

“Well, whatever you are you have no business here. Get lost.” Ness said shortly before pushing past them, mumbling angrily about how he was going to have to move places _again_ , and how he couldn’t take much more of this.

“Mr. Ness, just wait a minute-”

“I told you to scram!” He yelled over his shoulder as he ripped his keys from his coat pocket and made his way for the door. “And I don’t want to see you two skulking around here when I leave either.”

Wyatt stood there helplessly for a moment before remembering the evidence so conveniently tucked away into his breast pocket. Honestly, if Lucy could see him floundering through this conversation when she’d given them all the proof they needed, she’d probably be beside herself.

“Not even if we had the missing evidence from Capone’s trial this morning?” Wyatt asked, producing the papers from his jacket with a little flourish. He took a little satisfaction in seeing Ness’ body go rigid as he carefully looked over his shoulder and his eyes widened in shock.  

“You-where did you get-how?” Ness stuttered, dropping any all-knowing tough guy pretense he might have been playing at before as he quickly sidled up beside Wyatt and gently took the papers in his own hands. Fingers shaking as his eyes roved over the pages and confirmed their authenticity, as if he almost couldn’t believe they were real. Satisfied, he eventually released a sigh of relief and was about to thank the two strange men before him when something clicked in his brain, and he found himself rounding on the pair.

His eyes flashing darkly and his face turning steely as he drew the papers closer to his chest. “What is this? Did _you_ steal these documents? Is this some sort of ransom where you charge me through the roof to get my own evidence back? And where’s the rest of the ledger?”

Ness looked like he was a hair’s breadth away from bolting, so Rufus leapt to keep up with the questions and calm him down. “We didn’t steal them, but we know who did. It was one of Capone’s new allies, a European newcomer who wanted to get in favor with Capone.”

Ness visibly relaxed, if only a fraction, looking less like he was about to take off but still ready if the need presented itself. His brows knit together in deep thought as he considered what Rufus had said, before something fell into place and a memory surfaced.

“I seen the one you’re talking about, down at the trial earlier. Tall, sturdy guy, has some kinda accent. Had a young woman with him too.” Ness remembered. 

“That’s our…colleague.” Wyatt explained, not totally sure how to properly define Lucy’s relationship to him either in the practical or romantic sense. But that was a problem for later. “She was doing surveillance on him when he grabbed her. He’s been holding her hostage for two days now.”

Maybe it was the earnestness in his expression, or the emotion that unwillingly slipped into Wyatt’s voice as he said it, but something about his words brought on a change in Ness. Like he was actually closer to at least half-believing their unlikely story.

“I’m…sorry to hear that.” Ness offered somewhat uncertainly, as if he wasn’t sure whether to give condolences for a tragedy that could be altogether fictional. But it was a monumental improvement on the open hostility from moments before, so they had to count it for something.

“So are we. She’s the one who got us the papers.” Rufus added.

Ness nodded, flipping through the documents in his grasp appreciatively. “Well, I’ll have to thank her for that. I need bring this into the district attorney’s office first thing tomorrow morning to see if we can have another shot at this case.”

Wyatt could already see the burning determination in Ness’ eyes as he reignited with a sense of purpose. It was a feeling the soldier could readily identify with, but it was slightly uncanny to see it unfold in someone else, if only because he was going through the exact same thing as of late. But hearing Ness mention the business of tomorrow snapped Wyatt into action, as he frantically remembered the second part of Lucy’s warning.

“Lucy-our colleague-also managed to tip us off that Capone put a hit out on you, tonight.” Wyatt revealed in a low voice, his eyes flashing side to side as he scanned the street for any suspicious characters, but there was no one in sight. Or at least no one that looked out of place. It was early evening by now, and there were ladies of the night, drunkards, soon-to-be-drunkards, and the like milling about the streets. But no one that screamed ‘stealthy assassin’ by a long shot.

Ness looked understandably unsettled by this news, his eyes automatically sweeping their surroundings just as Wyatt’s had. “Are you sure? I always make it a point to take a roundabout way back home. How did he find out where I’m stayin’?”

 _Flynn, probably_. Wyatt assumed, but that was an explanation they didn’t have time for. “I don’t know, but I think it’d be best if we secure your apartment, if you don’t mind.” Wyatt was struggling not to be pushy, but there wasn’t exactly a polite way to tell someone that they needed to let you guard them from impending death, and that there wasn’t really any choice in the matter.

Ness still looked more than a little wary but didn’t seem to have the energy or wherewithal to protest. He seemed more scared about the prospect of a looming sniper than the threat of the two alleged detectives offering their help and shrugged his acquiescence before turning his key in the lock and beckoning them up the stairs. He was careful to keep a lookout over his shoulder on the way up though. Whether to keep an eye on himself and Rufus or some unseen threat, Wyatt didn’t know. Probably both.

They climbed up two flights of rickety stairs before shuffling down a narrow and dimly lit hallway, coming to stand outside a bare bones wooden door. Ness was about to slide his key into place before Wyatt threw out an arm to stop him, holding a finger to his lips to hush them. He could have sworn that he’d heard a noise from the other side of the wall just a moment before.

“Someone could be waiting for you.” Wyatt whispered as quietly as he could. “Unlock the door and throw it open, but don’t step inside. I’ll cover you.”

Ness nodded silently as Wyatt removed his glock from its holster and undid the safety, positioning himself with his back against the wall as the other man unlocked the door, and cautiously pushed it open.

It wasn’t a moment later that the bullets started raining. 

Just as the door swung open someone start pumping lead into the wall behind the door where Ness would have been standing. Rufus and Ness quickly startled back from the opening, pressing themselves against the far side of the hallway while Wyatt kept his back to the wall, his fingers itching at the trigger as he waited for the right moment to slip inside. With the amount of noise and bullets firing, it sounded like a god damn machine gun was waiting for him, and Wyatt knew he was going to have to be smart about this if there was.

After a moment or two the shooter seemed to realize that Ness wasn’t in fact standing there, and the firing ceased. Wyatt took a breath, let it out, and then rounded through the doorway, gun up and ready to pull the trigger. There were two men, one hiding behind Ness’ wardrobe and the other standing unprotected in the kitchen doorway. Wyatt recognized the latter as one of Flynn’s henchmen, the one that had led them to the death trap of the Murder Castle back in 1893. But, grudges aside, he figured it was more practical to go for the guy holding the portable machine gun first.

“Stay outside!” Wyatt ordered to Rufus and Ness before opening fire.

Wyatt tossed two bullets in the direction of the machine gun wielder and heard the sound of a body hitting the wooden slats before diving across the floor, rolling to take cover behind the couch in the living room.

He could hear one of the cronies groaning, signaling that whoever he’d hit was still alive but definitely out of commission. A moment later footsteps were sounding from the kitchen and edging closer by the second, but he couldn’t gage which direction they were coming from as he mentally gambled with edging left or right around the barrier of the couch.

Just as Wyatt was about to stand up and return fire a figure rounded the corner of the sofa where he was crouching, and Flynn’s goon came into view. The angular faced man already had his own gun raised, pointed to aim just between Wyatt’s eyes, his finger reaching for the trigger as if in slow motion. Wyatt raised his glock, but somehow intuitively knew that he wasn’t going to make it in time, just one more second and he’d be dead-

A shot was fired, and yet he felt no pain.

Wyatt blinked, noticed the blood oozing from the goon’s chest, and stood to his feet as his opponent fell to his knees and collapsed face forward onto the floor, dead. Just behind the bleeding assailant Wyatt could see Ness holding his own pistol as he lowered it back to his side and reloaded.

“Thanks for that.” Wyatt said, still catching his breath.

Ness nodded solemnly. “Don’t mention it. I owe it to you anyway. It would’ve been me hittin’ the floorboards if you two hadn’t shown up.”

Ness reached to shake Wyatt’s hand in gratitude, and then pleasantly surprised Rufus by extending the same grace to him as well. It seemed all a black guy had to do to get a little respect in the 1930’s was saving someone’s life. A ridiculously high bar to be sure, but Rufus was glad for the change in attitude if not in heart.

Ness bent to survey the body sprawled out by the couch, checked his pulse and confirmed that he was dead. Meanwhile Wyatt and Rufus made their way toward the other man slumped against the wardrobe who was still breathing. The wounded goon cracked a heavy eye lid as the two of them approached, moaning in pain as he clutched his wounded shoulder. 

“Ness was s’pposed to be alone.” The man slurred. “Was gonna be an easy job…”

Rufus watched the guy with a mixture of disgust and anxiety before turning his attention to Wyatt. “What should we do with him? We can’t have him running back to Capone.”

“I don’t think he’s going to be running anywhere in this state.” Wyatt replied as he mulled over their options. Ness eventually stood, having not found any identifying markers or clues on the dead man’s body, and after searching the rest of the apartment for potential threats, informed them that he was going downstairs to phone the police.

Rufus glanced over his shoulder, watching Ness go. Only after the door shut firmly behind him did he guide Wyatt a few steps away into the kitchen and quietly ask, “Is it safe to leave this guy alive?”

Wyatt couldn’t help but do a double take at Rufus’ indirect suggestion, especially with the bleeding man listening just a few paces away. “Hardly the first thing I’d expect to hear coming from you.”

Rufus looked uncomfortable, the weight of what he’d implied bearing down on him as he reflected on how much he’d changed in the past year. How the person he was before all this started would have been appalled that he could even toy with the idea of killing someone, and now he was forced to weigh the tactical practicality of it with far less compassion than he would have thought himself capable of. He didn’t like what this fight was turning him into. 

Wyatt watched his friend struggle with his own heightened tolerance for violence and the fraying moral boundaries that were becoming increasingly difficult to navigate as Flynn and Rittenhouse both tried to force the team to stoop to their level. After all, what was the point of fighting against someone if you were willing to be just as ruthless as they were?

Rufus raised his eyebrows at him in the stagnant silence as if to ask, _well, what’s it going to be?_

His military instinct told him that an enemy’s compromised asset was a dangerous liability to have lying around, especially if he were to somehow get loose and feed details of the encounter back to Capone and/or Flynn. But another voice in his head reminded him that this was a human life he held in his hands, and it was a voice that sounded an awful lot like a certain historian. 

The guy was just a kid really, no more than 21 at the most Wyatt guessed as he snuck a look at the lad’s face over the kitchen counter. He was dozing, his chin bobbing against his chest as more blood soaked through his shirtfront. Once upon a time Wyatt was a young, stupid, hot headed kid making stupid decisions who got lucky and managed to turn it around. Who was he to say that he deserved a second chance, and this kid didn’t?

Wyatt shook his head. “No, we have to leave him alive. We shouldn’t change history more than we have to. He might be a misguided scumbag, but he’s probably a scumbag that’s supposed to live.”

He also comforted himself in the knowledge that the perp would most likely be under lock and key even once they managed to get him to a hospital, so the odds of him relaying any intel or details about his run-in with the two ‘private detectives’ were slim.

Decision made, he quickly swiped some dish towels off of Ness’ kitchen counter before approaching the writhing young man and kneeling down to his level before wrapping the fabric over the wound to make a makeshift tourniquet.

“This is going to hurt.” Wyatt warned. The young man winced as Wyatt tightened the knot, struggling to stifle a pained choking sound which he buried into his other shoulder while biting down on the material of his coat.

“Why are you tendin’ me?” The boy asked incredulously, involuntarily gasping as he watched Wyatt patch him up. He looked like he couldn’t decide whether to be offended or grateful, which resulted in his face contorting in an odd combination of furious disbelief.

“Because you’re too young to be caught up in all this, and you deserve a chance at a fresh start once this is all over. I’m not gonna let you bleed out.” Wyatt replied earnestly, finishing up the bandage. “Take your hand and apply pressure to your shoulder, then try and hold out until the police get here. You’ll cooperate if you know what’s good for you.”

With that Wyatt stood and returned to Rufus’ side, missing the gob smacked face the kid directed at his retreating back. But the young man did as he was told, and only went so far as to openly stare at the pair of time travelers from across the room as he followed Wyatt’s instructions.  

Rufus watched the whole exchange in silence, looking secretly relieved that Wyatt had argued against any backstreet execution for the sake of tying up loose ends. “You know, you’re starting to sound like Lucy.” He said when Wyatt rejoined him in the kitchen.

At that, Wyatt couldn’t help the small smirk that tugged at his lips, wistful at the thought of her. “Somebody has to be the voice of reason until we get her back.”

Rufus looked like he could think of another reason why Wyatt was so keen on Lucy’s ‘protect history’ philosophy but didn’t have time to comment before Ness came trudging back inside.

“The police are on their way.” He announced. “And an ambulance too. We’ll escort this one to the hospital before we take him down to the precinct for questioning. I’m sure he’ll have a lot to say.”

The kid was now glaring daggers into the back of Ness’ head, but Ness couldn’t even be bothered to turn around.

“That sounds like a good plan. But we have to…go.” Rufus informed him, awkward as ever.

At Ness’ confused expression Wyatt added, “We still have to deal with Flynn, Capone’s new right-hand man, and then rescue our colleague.”

With this part of the mission completed he found himself impatient, the instinct to go back for Lucy an all-encompassing need. And this time he wasn’t going to take no for an answer no matter how many mobsters were wandering around the penthouse or how many locks were on the door.

“Something tells me she’s more than your colleague.” Ness observed, cocking a questioning eyebrow.

After getting over the initial shock involved with admitting that even Eliot Ness could see right through him, Wyatt just came out and said it. “Yes, I suppose she is.”

Rufus looked proud, if not a little smug, but Wyatt didn’t have the heart to care.

Then, for the first time since Wyatt had met him, Ness smiled. “Well then you’d better get going.”

Wyatt and Rufus waited a few more minutes until the police showed up before making a swift exit. But not before Eliot Ness thanked them both again, promised to put the repossessed tax evidence to good use in court, and finally wished them good luck.

“What do you know? The Untouchable One is kind of a softy.” Wyatt remarked as they clambered back into their stolen car and Rufus revved up the engine.

“Not a bad guy once you get to know him.” Rufus agreed. “He’s like Shrek. He has layers.”

“What?”

Rufus groaned with the disappointed agony of a misunderstood teenager. “We really need to work on your pop culture knowledge, man.”

Wyatt rolled his eyes. “You can lecture me about movie references when we’re back in the present. Let’s get back to the Lexington. One last stop before home.”

“Hopefully home is the same as we left it when we get there.” Rufus mumbled balefully as he pulled the car our onto the street and sped away from the hotel.

What neither them saw was the pair of narrowed eyes watching them from a few floors up, a body crouched stealthily on a low hanging fire escape in the darkened side alley, out of sight. Nobody had heard it in the commotion that erupted from the fire fight, but there had been a third assailant hiding out in Ness’ bedroom for backup. Like the coward he was he’d slipped out the open window when he heard things starting to go south, lying in wait on the fire escape until the coast was clear. He made a quick note of the two men leaving the scene, almost sure that they were the two who had interfered with their whole operation. But didn’t have much time to linger on the thought as he heard the sound of cars and sirens approaching in the distance. The miscreant deftly slid down the ladder until his feet hit the pavement and wasted no time in racing down the back alleyway before the police showed up.

He certainly had a lot to tell his boss.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yes, I did use part of that iconic coversation between Wyatt and Rufus from 2x1, the opportunity was just too good to pass up. You may wonder why I'm 'stealing' scenes from other Timeless episodes down the line, and it's basically because I'm turning this into my own version of an ending for Timeless which would have closed out season 1. This is why it is a Lyatt story, because in season 1 I preferred the chemistry between Wyatt and Lucy. My other story is a would be season 3/Fix-it finale fic, since in season 2 and onward I find Garcy more fitting. Just a personal opinion. Hope this offers some insight to my jumbled creative process. 
> 
> And yes, there were A team references. A team, time team. Same thing, right?


End file.
